What Makes Us
by Maegmel
Summary: Discovering who you are, and what is important to you, you have to go through hell first. This particular hell is both personal and historic for Wyatt and the team. Based off of 1.11. Drama/Action/Angst and eventual Wucy.
1. Chapter 1

**What Makes Us**

 _Drama/Angst/Action/Romance_

By: Maegmel

A/N: I own nothing, except my crazy mind. I would like to put out a disclaimer that I do have a full-time job and updates may not be regular. However, I'm currently obsessed with this show.

 **Chapter 1**

It was a cold Christmas Eve, even by California standards. Wyatt shivered involuntarily and zipped his well-worn jacket as he stepped out of Mason Industries, alone, after their latest mission. It had gone well, by their standards anyway. The Wright brothers had still made their historic flight, despite Flynn's best efforts to sabatoge them. It had only been one day later than it should have been, and Rufus had saved the day on that one. Finding a way to repair (much more quickly than he should have) the damage made to the plane prototype. Lucy was still about to have a conniption fit about how the initial flight date had been post-poned, but Wyatt was willing to call it a win. Especially since he had a flight of his own to make. In 2016.

He had almost escaped to his burgundy pickup, when he heard the unique squeal of the un-oiled hardly used side door of the otherwise well-maintained Mason Industries warehouse. Wyatt liked to think of it as _his_ side-door. The one he escaped out of, before Agent Christopher could thank him for his latest efforts. Or he could avoid the well-meaning invites of his teammates for a beer. Or worse-dinner. Wyatt was a loner. He liked being a loner. And he was very good at it since Jessica died.

The problem was that Lucy had discovered his side-door and realized he had loner tendencies. And ever since the Alamo mission she had doggedly tried to reach out to him, to get him to open up in their free minutes before the next launch or the after the debriefs. He knew it would be her footsteps following him before he heard the distinctive clack of her beloved leather boots.

The pace quickened when he failed to turn around. _Not tonight Lucy._ He thought with a twinge of a guilty conscience. He felt bad always avoiding her efforts and rebuffing her advances. The skeptic in him thought it might be the remorse the average American citizen felt when they came to know a veteran with a record like his. When they found out what he'd been through to keep them safe at night. _But I'm alive, and there are so many others who don't walk today because of me._ The smaller part of him thought it might be because she was worried he wasn't dealing with Jessica's death well. A bigger portion, the angel-on-his-shoulder portion if you could call it that, was beginning to be convinced that _maybe_ just _possibly_ she was actually concerned about him. And chiding him for being an ass.

"Wyatt!" She shouted. _So much for feigning ignorance._ With an almost inaudible sigh he paused and pivoted round with the minimal amount of movement required. Precision. Perfection. Conservation of energy. It defined his life. Down to his movements.

He waited for the small, black haired historian to catch up with him, much more nimble in her favored, worn tobacco brown leather boots and blue jeans with her fuzzy ivory sweater then her Edwardian froth of a dress of an hour ago. _Though somehow, Lucy always managed to pull off whatever costume she worn as if she was born into it._ The memory of her in it, made him smirk just before she spoke again, throwing her somewhat offguard.

Lucy stopped dead right in front of Wyatt, wondering if she had her hair sticking up or something, _What else would make him smirk like that?_

"Yes Ma'am?" He queried, bringing her back to present.

"I-I was wondering what your plans were for Christmas?" she asked in a small voice, unconsciously patting down her hair. _He has no family, and with memories like his. He shouldn't be alone. Of course, how I'll explain this to my mother I have no idea._

His demeanor shifted, ever so slightly, like she knew it would. Like all the other times she'd tried to reach out to him only to be rebuffed. The movement of his left foot, a few centimeters further to the left. Unnecessary movement was a tell of his. The down-shift in his eyes before he met hers again. He opened his mouth to say no. She steeled herself for it. And she could feel the red flush of rejection racing to her cheeks even before he'd said a word.

"Lucy. I-" he started then stopped. "I'm flying to Texas tonight." His blue eyes bored into hers. Asking her not to ask him why. But at the same time, asking her to ask anyway.

"On Christmas Eve?" was her bewildered response, "Why? How are you getting there, most flights have already left by now, it's nearly midnight."

He looked away, "All the regular flights have left, yes." And then he turned back to her. "But there are still MILAIR flights, and I'm scheduled for one at 0200."

She took a step towards him, "Are you going to see family then?"

His eyes grew brighter, if possible and he looked away again, "You could say that."

She took another step towards him, and laid her chilly fingers on his shoulder, gently tugging him around, "Wyatt," she began softly, "there's no shame in saying you have nowhere to go. You don't have to make up an excuse." She wanted so desperately to hug him and wash away the pain that was so clearly written on his face in those short seconds.

"I'm going to visit Jessica's grave." He said suddenly, trying to maintain his composure. _Let me go. Please, just let me go._

Lucy stepped back feeling as if she were slapped even though he hadn't touched her, she sensed it was not her place. _How could she contend with a dead woman? Nomatter how selfless her intentions were._

"Please be safe Wyatt. And the invitation still stands." She swallowed her words, barely audible and turned to leave him alone in the parking lot, heading defeated once again towards her car.

He might have lost certain audio ranges in his hearing according to the Army doctors, but he'd heard her softly mumbled words. He stared after her slowly retreating figure. What he couldn't tell her was that there was a very good reason he avoided her except on their missions.

The thought had first occurred to him in Castle Valar. But he'd brushed at away as pure distrust of the clear womanizing man who had inspired the iconic James Bond. He watched over her, motionless as she closed the door to her small little blue Corolla. _Should he run after her and apologize? But for what? Wanting to see his wife, making sure she wasn't alone on her favorite holiday?_

It had become a definitive force when she shook sense into him at the Alamo, when she forced him to realize that perhaps, just perhaps, he actually meant something more to someone than just being a number on a sheet of paper.

Her engine revved and the lights flicked on. He watched as she reversed and turned out of the lot. She tried to hide it from him, even though she knew he was watching. But even she couldn't hide her flaming red face in the rear view mirror and the tears starting to run down her cheeks. _Why do I even try?_ She asked herself angrily.

But that reason, which had seemed so rock solid to Wyatt in the past; his compartmentalization that had saved him for so long seemed hollow. _Since when was saving himself of such paramount importance that he should cause hurt to another human being? Especially one so selfless as Lucy?_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** This would have been up last night, but FFN was giving me issues uploading, so blame them. Thank you for those of you who reviewed the last chapter! This is going to be a rather angsty story for awhile. Because I feel that the characters do have some issues to resolve first. However, no fear there will be romance in the end, just a bit of drama, violence and some challenging historical figures in between.

Also, I want perspectives from the entire trio, though I have a feeling most of this will center around Wyatt and how he's reacting to things.

 **Chapter 2**

Walking the tarmac to his return MILAIR flight from the Naval Air Station in Texas found Wyatt feeling like he was going to fly into a million pieces even before he stepped foot on the plane. Military transport was rarely comfortable, and these flights were no exception. They were hardly better than the Mason Industries Lifeboat on a bad day.

But today that uncertainty he normally felt getting on a military transport plane paled in comparison to what he was feeling right now. He was white as a sheet and he knew it. A wrinkled envelope with her trademark blue sealing wax stamp addressed in the familiar and haunting spidery script was securely stuffed in his jacket pocket.

He couldn't bring himself to read it, not just yet. Not when he knew that it would send him flying into pieces. Edith had warned him.

A force of habit walked him to his solidly uncomfortable seat on the plan and fastened his thick straps down. The young pilot turned around to mention they were preparing for take-off. Wyatt wondered what the poor sod had done to pull flight-duty on Christmas Day.

 _A massive oak sat on the hill sheltered a single headstone. The wind whipped round with a brutal force rustling through the grass, the tree overhead creaked with the strain. He laid the white lilies down._

 _Jessica Graham Logan_

 _Loving Wife and Daughter_

 _1986-2012_

 _It was plain and simple, how she would have wanted it. He knelt down beside her; the sun was barely cresting in the distance. This place had been so sacred to him, the place where he had first kissed Jessica, where she had agreed to share a life with him. How was he to guess it was to be her final resting place?_

 _For once Wyatt let his guard down; there was no one there to hear his angry question. There was no one there to see him weep at her untimely death. It wasn't until the sun was well above the horizon, and the wind had calmed it's fury that he registered a noise that should not have been there, behind him._

 _The grass crunched, a stick snapped. Footsteps. He was no longer alone._

" _Wyatt. Son. Is that you?" quavered an uncertain but familiar voice. One he had not heard for years._

 _Wiping his face on his sleeve, he was on his feet before another foot dropped._

 _There she was in the early morning sun, dark blonde hair with liberal streaks of white and grey. Green eyes. A spitting image of her daughter. Edith Graham. His mother-in-law._

 _They hadn't spoken since Jessica's funeral, and that had been a very tense and uncomfortable affair. The Grahams blamed him for Jessica's death, and rightly so. They insisted that Jessica be buried on the ranch she grew up on. He didn't have a real home so he couldn't object. He personally felt very lucky that Richard Graham hadn't simply erased the 'Logan' from her tombstone entirely._

 _It was minutes before either of them spoke, the lost soldier and the broken mother bathed in the rising, glittering sunlight; united in the loss of a young woman they had both loved dearly._

" _Ma'am." Wyatt started._

" _I'm sorry." She began._

 _Wyatt's shock was evident on his face, and the older woman advanced slowly, her shawl fluttered slightly in the breeze. She reached, somewhat hesitantly, for his hands when she stood in front of him. He let her take them. "I'm sorry Wyatt for all these years-" she stopped, choking back a sob._

 _Wyatt opened his mouth, but she motioned for him to stop, "No. I must say this, before Rick comes looking for me." She paused for a deep breath, and then seemed to straighten as she looked up at him, green eyes meeting blue; she brushed her small hand against his face._

 _Her hand felt so frail, much more so than he remembered it. "I can see why she loved you." She whispered, "You were everything to her." She closed her eyes again and swallowed hard, "Wyatt, I've done you a great disservice-"_

" _Ma'am-" He began again_

" _No!" she hissed angrily, "Jessica mailed me a letter a week before she died. She sent it to me for safe-keeping. But it was addressed to you. And all these years I selfishly kept it, thinking your negligence had killed her so you didn't deserve her last words." She paused looking down at her feet, "Not even Rick knew about it." Glancing up at him again, "I never read it; even though I wouldn't give it to you I couldn't throw it away or read it myself. Until last week. I read her letter to you. I'm sorry." She blurted looking away in shame, her voice thick with emotion and her tears threatening to fall on her wearied face._

" _I don't know what I was expecting to find. Maybe that you had done her wrong and she had wanted to leave you. Maybe I was hoping she'd remembered me in that letter instead of just writing one to you. I was selfish and wrong, and I'm truly sorry." Edith reached into her grey shawl and pulled out an envelope in writing Wyatt knew only too well._

" _But I was even more sorry when I read the contents of that letter, not only did she love you beyond even what I knew was possible, but it proved that I've misjudged you very much, and laid blame on you that you of all people don't deserve…" She trailed off, looking out to the never-ending fields beyond as the first salty tear found its way down her cheek and in a voice barely above a whisper she said, "and I've prevented her true killer from coming to justice. For years."_

 _He stood there, for once in his life not really knowing the next course of action. The Army had trained him for many things, but this was not one of them. Edith turned around and offered him the letter._

" _Take it Wyatt. Find her killer and bring him to justice if you can. But never, ever come back here until you do, or they'll find you." She folded the letter into his hand before turning to go._

" _I don't expect you shall ever forgive me, nor shall I ever forgive myself for this. But remember I will always be your mother in spirit if not in blood. I will try to make up for this should you let me."_

 _Wyatt, for his part was frozen where he stood, the revelations were too much. The shock was too great. This simple envelope held the secret they'd all been searching for for years._

 _She kissed his forehead in a form of benediction, the tears streaming down her face, "You'll always be my boy for what you were to Jess. But she wants you to move on, and to be happy. Please stop torturing yourself. She died to save you Wyatt, and she wants you to live for her. So leave," she glanced nervously behind her towards the barely visible ranch on the yellow-gold horizon, "while you still can."_

 _And just like that, Edith was gone. Wyatt watched her progress towards the ranch in the distance before he thought he heard a male voice call out and perhaps even a dog yelp._

 _He snapped out of it. He knew it was only a matter of time before his father-in-law set the dogs on him for trespassing._

The plane was in the air now, and his home state, the state where he had married Jessica and buried her too was slowly shrinking away beneath him. He was still trying to wrap his head around the encounter with Edith.

 _She died to save you Wyatt._

What had he done that could possibly have put Jess in that much danger?

Morbid thoughts gathered like storm crows in his mind and the adrenaline surged as he re-considered her murder case from every angle while he waited impatiently for the flight to reach its destination, turning the still unread letter over and over in his hands like a worry stone. _Lucy would have used the old-school English saying, "Idle minds are the Devil's Workshop."_

But he couldn't call Lucy when he landed. And he couldn't call Rufus. Not on Christmas.

But he did have a whisky bottle.

 **A/N:** Nope, never been to Texas. And I was never in the Army, but I was in the service. So I'm working off of general knowledge. Thanks for reading and let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Work's been beastly. Sorry for the late update. Enough said.

 **Chapter 3**

It was 2:53 am according to Rufus's alarm clock. He stared at it bleary-eyed, trying to remember when he had set it for and why he was awake.

His phone vibrated angrily on the nightstand before falling to the floor. Rufus cursed before jumping out of bed to grab it. _Where had Flynn gone this time and why couldn't he try to damage time during normal working hours like a normal human being?_

 _That's because normal human beings don't try to destroy history._

Rufus was surprised to see that the missed calls, three of them to be exact weren't from Mason Industries though, or Connor Mason or even Agent Christopher or Jiya. _Though Jiya was not a morning person in the slightest._ The thought put a smirk on Rufus's face that even Wyatt would have been proud of.

Speaking of the devil, the missed calls were actually from Wyatt Logan, and his phone vibrated with a new voicemail. _Dude, it's the day after Christmas, why are you up so early?_ Rufus thought angrily, rather uncharitable at being disturbed from his sleep.

As he stumbled into his bathroom and poured a glass of water for himself, debating whether to answer Wyatt's calls he finally realized why Wyatt was calling. _He'd been alone all Christmas._ _How horrible._

Finding some clothes, he clicked through the messages to listen to a slightly drunk Wyatt become a _very_ drunk Wyatt over the course of a couple hours and few voicemails.

It was then that the whine of panic began to set in. _How many veteran suicides have you read about in the last few years? Men with more to live for than Wyatt._

Scribbling a note for his mother he grabbed his car keys and an old hoodie.

 _Hold in there man!_

While none of his friend's voicemails made any sense, and Rufus was still waking up, it was more the tone he'd heard in Wyatt's non-sensical drunken rants, a tremor in the voice of a man he'd viewed as invincible. And that terrified him. He might not be as close to Wyatt as Lucy clearly was, but the experiences they had shared together bound the trio closer to him than nearly anyone else.

If the stalwart soldier was cracking it was a problem for the team. If Wyatt was cracking, it was a problem for Rufus, his friend.

 _When will this light turn green?!_ Rufus angrily slammed his fist onto the steering wheel in impatience.

Time seemed to drag as Rufus sped through the dark streets towards Wyatt's apartment. As he turned towards the apartment complex, he realized it was far too early for anyone to open the gate. _Why did Wyatt live in a gated complex anyway?_ And buzzing Wyatt's apartment when he wasn't even sure Wyatt was conscious didn't seem like a viable option.

He screeched his car into park on the side street and silently thanked Wyatt and these time missions for his new-found athletic ability before he vaulted the fence, which hadn't been as high as he thought it was.

Out of breath and pounding on Wyatt's door, Rufus was debating calling the cops for back-up. _What if he couldn't get into the apartment?_

He was saved from further contingency planning by the door opening.

Just inside stood Wyatt, propped against his door frame in blue jeans and shirtless despite the outside temperature. Hair askew in five different directions and reeking of his nearly empty bottle of 12 year old Talisker in hand. _What?!_ Rufus scratched the back of his head, how _had_ he misread Wyatt's tone in those messages? The thoughts whizzed through Rufus's mind like the commands of a computer program starting up.

 _Was it because he himself wasn't really even awake yet?_

 _Why did he call me? Why didn't he call Lucy? She so much better with emotions than me. Hell she dragged him out of the Alamo. She can get through to him when nobody else can._

 _Had Wyatt really drunk that whole bottle?_

Rufus was not a whisky drinker, but he recognized a good bottle from Connor Mason's odd habit of drinking whisky in the office out of bone china teacups when stressed. _Damn that shit's not cheap._

"Whadda you want Rufus? Sun's not even up." The soldier slurred.

 _If I weren't so concerned for him, I'd hit him right now._ "You called me." The engineer stated blankly. "THREE times."

"Oh!" Wyatt laughed, "Knew I'd called somebody. Right," he waved an invitation into his apartment as he stepped aside, "do come in."

Rufus tried not to gag from the smell of too much whisky as he passed his friend and entered the rather spartan abode he called home. It was the first time that Rufus had ever set foot in Wyatt's place. The apartment wasn't the home that he had imagined, clean lines, brown leather couch and matching walnut furniture everything neatly in its place. Very little spoke to what made Wyatt, well Wyatt. _He is a soldier, not an engineer much less a historian._

Everything was spotless, except the hastily tossed bag on the floor which had spilled its contents of Wyatt's CAC card, Mason Industries ID, dogtags, empty redbull can, white tshirt and plaid flannel shirt on the polished hardwood floor. The bar right next to the TV was also a mess, there were at least two other empty bottles on top of it, both apparently whisky and a pile of newspaper clippings, maps and other things.

 _Clearly he'd been somewhere recently, and was obsessing over something as a result._

 _But he can't have gone through nearly three bottles of whisky, not even Wyatt can drink that much._ Rufus concluded the other two must have been partially full. He casually glanced at the clippings as he passed the bar towards the couch; they showed a beautiful blonde woman over and over. _That must be his wife._

The engineer turned around, giving Wyatt the once over, confused. "Wyatt, why did you call me here?" _He didn't seem in danger, except from too much alcohol._

Wyatt sauntered over to the couch and flopped on it, offering his bottle to Rufus, "Drink?" he asked, "It's the good shtuff, Grandpa taught me not to drink shite."

Rufus ignored the offer. _Maybe he doesn't remember why he called me?_ "I see you've been somewhere recently?" Rufus motioned to Wyatt's neglected bag is his otherwise pristine apartment.

Wyatt shrugged and took another swig of the bottle before answering, "Yeshh, very astute of you to notice." He stared at the TV, which was off and began turning the bottle over and over in his hands as if debating something. Rufus scratched the back of his head again in confusion, trying to puzzle this situation out.

 _He hardly talks, even when he's completely lit. Why did he call me? Why didn't he call Lucy? She's so much better at talking to people. I talk to circuit boards and math equations…_

Rufus decided to sit down beside his friend, and gently reached for the bottle, removing it from the soldier's hands. _Let's try a different tactic._ "Nice bottle. Scotch, right? I would've taken you for a bourbon man since you're from Texas."

His friend smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes, and he gave an amused snort, "My grandfather was born in Scotland. He wouldn't let me drink bourbon period. Actually beat me when he caught me drinking it for the first time at fourteen. Then he took me back to his study and poured me a glass of his scotch and told me that was what a real whisky was."

Wyatt reached for the bottle again, removing it from Rufus's hands. "Been drinking scotch ever since." He took another sip from the bottle.

The engineer reached for the bottle back, gently removing it from Wyatt's hands again, and making eye contact this time, "But your last name-Logan-I didn't think that was Scottish." Wyatt grinned again and stood, stumbling as he got up, making an overly dramatic sweeping motion towards a shelf on the wall. _Distraction tactic worked._

"Logan is my father's name. My mother's name was Gordon before she married him," he walked over to the shelf and pulled down a triangular folded American flag in a wooden case. Rufus hid the bottle just out of sight behind the coffee table leg just before Wyatt turned around, offering the shadowbox to Rufus.

He gingerly took it, aware of what the significance was, the simple brass plaque read, "Staff Sergeant, William 'Sherman' Gordon, United States Army 1941-1945."

"I thought you only got these if you died in service." He looked over at Wyatt in question.

Wyatt shook his head, "Nope. If you die in service, of course. But retirees, major conflict veterans etc can get it too when they pass. I joined the Army for him." He motioned to the flag in Rufus's hands, which the engineer anxiously placed on the dark coffee table, afraid to drop it.

Rufus nervously shifted his hands into his pockets before squaring up to look Wyatt in the eye, "Seriously Wyatt, no games." Wyatt gave a lop-sided grin. "Drunk or not, I know you called me for a reason. You're not a drunk dialer. Why did you call me over here?"

Wyatt surreptitiously glanced away towards his unwieldy stack of papers on the bar and then quickly back at Rufus, but not quickly enough for him not to see. He placed his head in his hands and ran his fingers through his already ridiculous hair, and Rufus suddenly knew how it got that way. He sighed, hands still clasped on the back of his head, "I need your help."

 _What could he possibly need my help with?_

Rufus supposed his confused expression and lack of response made Wyatt elaborate. "My wife, she-" he closed his eyes with a grim expression.

"Would you rather I called Lucy?" _I can't talk women, hell I can barely score a date with Jiya. And I certainly can't talk out his feelings for his dead wife._

"NO!" snapped Wyatt, much to Rufus's shock, "You can't call her, not now." He finished more softly.

Rufus took a step towards him and placed a steadying hand on Wyatt's shoulder, "She would never judge you Wyatt, we may not have the experiences you do, but we-she would never judge you." He spoke in what he hoped was a calming tone, his hand reached into his pant pocket for his cell, "Let me call her." _I can't handle him like this._

Wyatt forced Rufus's hand away from the phone, "NO!"

"Dude what are you scared of? It's just Lucy." The confusion evident in Rufus's voice, then slowly comprehension dawned on his face.

Wyatt, despite his inebriated state saw that, and turned away trying to hide his embarrassment. He stumbled back to the bar, clearly looking for another drink.

"You know, I realllllllllly envy you Rufus." He said softly. The clanking of various bottles ensued as Wyatt tried to select another.

"Wyatt, how-how could you possibly envy me? I owe my life to an organization that is blackmailing me, and I didn't even know that was the case until a few weeks ago. My life has turned up-side down. My family is being threatened-" the panic was rising in Rufus's voice as Wyatt stood up a grin of satisfaction on his face at finding the next bottle.

"S'Easy," he began as he uncorked the bottle, "You've only had to kill in self-defense. No one has died because of you. No one has sacrificed themselves for you." He peered at the whisky in the glass he'd just poured as if trying to find the meaning of his life inside, and Rufus was not quite sure he heard Wyatt's next words correctly they were so soft, "And you've only got feelings for one woman." Holding his glass up to the light, "Bottoms up." He murmured as he drank the whole thing.

"Dude is that why you don't want Lucy here? How much of that have you actually had?"

"Not enough." Was his sour reply, "I'm still concious."

 _Clearly this topic is only going to make him drink more._

Rufus walked over to the bar grasped his friend's shoulder and turned him trying to make eye contact, "Look I'm sorry for interrupting you, what did you need help with?" _Anything to stop his drinking._

Wyatt finally looked his friend in the eye, and Rufus for once saw the torment clearly written there. His voice was so thick he almost choked when he spoke, "My-My wife s-she was a very intelligent woman." He paused to swallow, "Before she met the men in my unit she had been a mathematics major. It was when she met them; saw what they brought back with them that inspired her to change majors. She became a psychologist. She worked with men like me, who came back." He paused to look away, shifting through the aging stacks of newspaper articles and police reports to pull out something.

Finding it he pulled out a wrinkled envelope with a broken blue wax seal and a spidery script. "Don't ask me how I got this, or where." He proffered the envelope to Rufus.

"Wyatt," Rufus turned the worn envelope over to the front the elegant cursive read 'Wyatt James Logan,' and it smelled distinctly feminine. He felt his face blanch. "Wyatt I can't read your wife's letter."

Wyatt slammed his bottle back down on the bar, "Dammit Rufus! There's a code in there!" He yelled. _You didn't mention a code buddy. Drunken Logic 101._ "Jessica taught me how to de-code it, but it's taking me too long. This is your thing."

 _Why is there a code in his dead wife's letter? Did she know something about her killer? Damn you Wyatt, why won't you tell me anything?_

"Please?" the soldier begged, "I think she knew who her killer was." He swallowed, audibly. "Rufus, I _need_ to know."

 _A coded letter. Who would write a letter in code? And why would he think it's about her killer?_ "Are you sure it's about her killer?"

"Yes, I've read it over more times than I care to tell you. She wrote a line of normal script, then a line of code, then a line of script and so on. Her mother just gave it to me. What she did write makes me think Jessica knew." He said exasperated.

 _This is too much of a coincidence. He never found his wife's killer. How could Wyatt never discover the murderer when he's so obsessed with it? Unless something was withheld. And if it was withheld, there would be a reason. Which would explain why Jessica might have concealed it in a code._ The gears were whirring in Rufus's mind, the puzzle pieces were fitting together and he wasn't liking where the path of his reasoning lead.

Suddenly Wyatt slumped against the bar, barely stopping himself from falling outright. Rufus reached for him, "Dude are you alright?"

"Yesssh," he slurred before passing out on the floor.

 _Great._

 **A/N:** I know I'm awful I didn't tell you what the letter said yet. But next chapter is Lucy's perspective, and I think we'd all rather read it from her point of view. ;)

Don't throw the rocks yet. This story will get better, soon, but I have to finish setting the stage first, it takes time.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Warning, there is bad language here. And no, I will not apologize for it.

Sorry, I wasn't happy with this chapter for awhile, still not totally 100% but I need to update. And as you are all aware, this story has gone slightly AU with the addition of the latest episodes. However, I couldn't change the whole plot. So we'll just pretend.

 **Chapter 4**

The Nespresso machine's steady hum as it dripped out the coffee was almost hypnotic. _Comforting, that some things never changed._

Unbidden Amy came to her mind. She fought the tears back, steadying herself on the kitchen counter. Yesterday had been horrific. _Her first Christmas without Amy. Her first Christmas with a man whose last name she still didn't know and who called himself her fiancé. Maybe Wyatt was right to avoid her invitation. Her life was even more of a mess than his._

It was no small wonder that she had barely slept last night. The overly bright LED clock on the stove read 6:27 in the morning as Lucy sipped her first welcoming gulps of coffee down. The early rays of sunlight filtered though her mother's beige sheer curtains, and Lucy smiled. _Amy had always loved the sunrise in the morning, "The sunrise brings hope Lucy. Hope that the new day will bring a brighter future."_ An ornery tear slid down her cheek.

She was startled from her reverie by an electronic noise coming from upstairs.

 _Blast! I forgot to put my phone on vibrate last night!_ Lucy deposited her mug on the counter and tried to dash upstairs, slipping on the hardwood floor in her brown fuzzy socks and falling on her ass causing quite a commotion.

 _So much for not waking mom up._ Silently cursing under her breath, she reflected as she righted herself that she'd certainly picked up some of Wyatt's choicer language. Pulling her socks off, she tore up the flight of stairs.

She had almost reached the top when her mother's door opened and Carol's face appeared sleepily from within, "Lucy?" she yawned half awake in her pajamas, "is everything alright?"

"Yes mom," she panted as she rounded the corner, throwing open her door and snagging her phone just before it kicked over to voicemail.

Less than fifteen minutes later saw Lucy behind the wheel of her faithful little blue corolla breaking nearly every traffic law in her city. She left in her wake a rather confused mother, a forgotten mug of coffee and tornado of clothes in her room.

 _Rufus had said that I had to come to Wyatt's immediately. And not to tell anyone. That they needed, Wyatt needed my help._

Her engineering friend sounded on the verge of complete panic and wasn't making much sense, so when she asked to speak to Wyatt for clarity; she got very concerned when Rufus said he wasn't able to come to the phone. _That was why she had left the house like an ancient Greek fury._

Hundreds of scenarios flashed through Lucy's mind like the Lifeboat whizzing into the past. Each prospect more terrifying that the last. Lucy cringed as she narrowly avoided a fire hydrant just before turning on to his street. _Thankfully there's no one on the roads right now. Her driving skills were certainly not Wyatt's under pressure._

She parked her car in the nearest available spot and dashed the remaining twenty yards to his door, mentally thanking Rufus for opening the complex gate for her. She was about to start pounding on the door, when it opened before her and Rufus popped his head out quickly looking first one way then the other before yanking Lucy inside and slamming the door behind her.

"Give me your phone." He demanded.

"Where's Wyatt?" Lucy nearly screeched at the same time. She scanned the room for her friend, but didn't see him. What she did take in scared her. Empty bottles of alcohol glinted in the early morning light from the bar and stacks of papers riddled nearly every open surface. "What's going on Rufus? Where's Wyatt?" she hissed angrily.

Rufus sighed, "He's fine-or rather he will be in a couple hours. He's sleeping; now please give me your phone." He extended his hand. Lucy looked at him, confusion all over her face.

They stared at each other for a few seconds before she started, "What-"

"Just give me your phone," Rufus whispered fiercely, "then I promise I'll explain." _What the hell is going on? Why is he being so secretive?_

Nevertheless, she rifled through her purse and pulled out her cell phone, Rufus grabbed it before she had even finished pulling it out and promptly turned it off before flipping the phone upside down and removing the battery and sim card.

"Sorry," he breathed at last, "what we're going to discuss nobody can hear. And I'm an engineer," he paused for breath pointing to the offending technology, "trust me when I say, these things listen." He dumped the disassembled pile into her hand. He sighed and scratched the back of his head.

"First thing you should know," he breathed quietly, "Is he was completely lit last night when he called me, and he only called me, because I can break codes." The black man looked with apologetic eyes towards her, "He likely won't remember much if anything when he wakes up. That is, unless he's got a much better tolerance than I do." He strode towards the wooden coffee table layered in sheets of paper covered in scribbles and old newspaper articles about Jessica.

 _This can't be good, whatever it is._ Impatient as she was, she stood there waiting for Rufus to spit it out.

"He received a letter from his mother-in-law yesterday," Rufus snagged a wrinkled envelope with a woman's handwriting on it before turning back towards her, "But the letter was written by his wife just before she died, part of it is in code, disclosing information about her killer." He finished silently offering her the letter.

 _Wyatt let him read Jessica's last letter? What did it say? Why didn't he call me?_ Lucy's hand trembled as she reached for the letter, she almost felt like she was about to be sick. "Who did it Rufus?" she mumbled, trying frantically to swallow the bile rising.

 _I should not be reacting like this to a letter. Regardless of what it contains. Get yourself together girl._

Rufus was seated on the couch again, scribbling again, "I think I know _what_ , but not _who_ I'm working through the last of it now."

Lucy swallowed and took a deep breath; the room smelt of whisky, dusty papers, Rufus's stale mug of coffee forgotten under the stacks and something…feminine. _That's odd._

Until she realized the smell reminded her of lilies, and it was coming from the letter in her hands.

 _Wyatt James Logan_

The haunting script almost seemed to taunt her. Just looking at the envelope brought tears to her eyes, as she imagined the love Jessica must have poured into writing this. "C-Can I actually read this?" she stammered, _would he want me to?_

Rufus looked up confused, "That's why I gave it to you Lucy," he pleaded, "I can write code, I can invent a time machine, but I can't talk to the broken man in there." Rufus pointed down the hall. "He needs to talk to someone whether he wants to or not. And I can't do emotions." His eyes pleaded wordlessly with her, and for a few selfish moments she thought of rejecting his request.

 _What if I don't like what I read here?_

But she nodded in assent, and left Rufus to his work. Silently she roamed the apartment, taking it in, working up the courage to read the dead woman's last words to her beloved husband.

His kitchen was immaculate, if not a bit gloomy in the varying shades of brown and narrow window above the sink near the fridge. _There were no traces of Jessica at all. Anywhere._

She stood still in the middle of the hallway, swallowing the butterflies. Butterflies that erupted in her stomach every time she touched Wyatt, every time he grinned at her.

 _Something had changed with the Bonnie and Clyde mission. That kiss, it wasn't like when she kissed Noah, it made her realize, well she wasn't sure what it made her realize, but whatever IT was, she knew that if she felt like that after Wyatt kissed her, she knew she couldn't marry Noah._

 _And ever since then she cringed when this woman-this Jessica-was brought up._

 _And she had no right to. No reason to._

Her friend needed her, and she was being selfish. _Get a hold of yourself._

A trembling hand grasped the cold door handle, turning it down and to reveal a darkened room. Inside wasn't very much furniture and lying in a tangled in a mess of sheets was Wyatt, a discarded woven southwestern style blanket on the floor. He was asleep, and still for the moment. Due to the state of his bed though, it was obvious that either Rufus had had a hard time getting him into bed-or that he was having nightmares. Lucy wasn't sure which.

Eyes adjusting to the dark, she spotted a worn leather chair by the window on the opposite end of the room from Wyatt. She stared at the soldier as he slept, a dead weight settling in her chest physically constricting her breath, the pain he hid during the day was there clearly written on his face for her to read even in the dark room. Her feet approached him before she realized she'd given them the command to do so. Her cold hand reached out to smooth his mussed hair, brushing the cold sweat on his brow.

This close, a faint scent of whisky mingled with what must have been his soap reached her. She drew in a deep, steadying breath and closed her eyes. _She was going to fix him. Somehow._

 _You need to start with the letter._

Retreating to the chair in the corner there was just enough natural light to squint at the letter. Fighting back emotions she didn't even know that she had, she forced herself to open the envelope, and open the sheet inside. The scent of lilies and beautiful script, interspersed with lines of code and smudges where tears blurred the ink greeted her.

She drew a breath to fight down the bile again and began.

 _January 28, 2012_

 _Dearest Wyatt,  
_

 _My love I am so terribly sorry. For if you have found this, it's likely that I did not survive. I cannot pretend to know what you must be feeling now, and I am selfish enough to know that even the thought of losing you was too much for me. So I chose for you to live. Husband, I cannot live without you, so I've chosen that you must live without me. I love you my dear, more than you can ever know._

 _I don't know when it started to be honest, it was some point between father hiring you for the spare work round the ranch and that time you snuck me out to the fairgrounds when we were supposed to be going to English class._

 _You stuck with me despite everything my father threw at you; he thought you weren't good enough when you enlisted like your grandfather. He wanted an Ivy-league man for his only daughter. I'll never forget the day we greeted you on the return from your first deployment, and he told you so rudely that we couldn't go out anymore-that I needed a man who could provide. Nevermind that you had already gotten two purple hearts. You didn't skip a beat when you said you'd enrolled in night class at Texas A &M and you were double majoring in German and Arabic._

 _You supported me when I changed majors to become a psychologist, despite my father's misgivings. He couldn't believe you had not only paid for college, but gotten two bachelors degrees while on active duty. And I still don't know what you did to convince him to let you ask for my hand, but it didn't matter to me. I had you. And I could not have been happier._

 _You were my dream come true, and I'll never forget how immensely proud I was to call you mine on our wedding day. I think every girl in our small town was jealous of me when you showed up in your dress blues, despite every protest to the contrary that you would never put on that blasted monkey suit for me._

 _Then the months flew by, you deployed again, to Syria this time. I know what happened while you were out there. The base CO called all of us wives in, after it happened. After they all died, and I remember being selfishly happy you'd been the one to make it out. But being in that room full of women, and seeing their grief-I can't pretend to know what you felt, but I had some inkling…_

 _And then, you returned, but you were so broken. I sent you to the best psychologist friends I knew, not one could break through to you. So your CO let me try. I am so sorry. I feel like I failed you, my husband, the one soldier I needed to help more than the rest. I failed you, where you had never once failed me._

 _Forgive me dearest, for not being able to fix you._

 _I lost you in Syria. The man I loved, I could no longer communicate with you. Me the psychologist, the doctor who specialized in communicating, in helping broken veterans could not get through to the one veteran who mattered to her the most._

 _But something else happened in Syria that even you don't know about. The dominoes were stacked. And I saw the true colors of those around us for the first time. And I realized that husband, I'd failed you again. I had put you in grave danger._

 _You may be the soldier, the one used to rushing into battle. But that doesn't mean that you're the only one willing to die for those you love. The Army trained you for so many things, but not for this. This was my battle._

 _Forgive me love, for not breaking through to you. But I will save you; I will not subject you to this horror. You deserve better that that. Than me._

 _How could I put you in a danger that you could not face down you ask?_

 _You're special forces._

 _You're an Army of One._

 _And you think you're invincible._

 _But this, this is not a danger you know how to fight. And it's a danger I put you in. Unintentionally, but I brought it on you. And I will get you out of it. Even if it kills me._

 _Please Wyatt, grant me one last wish, if I have passed protecting you from this evil. Move on. I know you, and I know you're going to feel guilty. Bittersweet is my request, and I shall not pretend to be happy that you will continue without me. But this was my choice. My last wish. I chose to save you. I chose for you to live. I love you more than anything, and let me at last make you proud of me. I will be happy knowing that you survived and have found happiness, even without me. Let me be your hero because you were always mine._

 _Live for me dearest._

 _All my love,_

 _Jessica Graham Logan_

Lucy's eyes were watering by the time she'd finished the letter. _How could she help Wyatt when his own wife, a trained doctor, could not?_ She choked back a sob, but it was too late. The restless man across the room stirred. _Vigilence was his lifeblood._

The moment seemed to slow; part of Lucy felt that she should try to hide the letter before he realized what she'd done. _After all he gave the letter to Rufus to decode, not to her to read. He didn't call you. He called Rufus._

A well of conflicting and jumbled emotions was bubbling up inside her threatening to erupt, as her friend sat up and rubbed his eyes.

For his part, Wyatt was trying to decide if that really was Lucy sitting there unbidden in the corner of his room bathed in the small shaft of light. _How could that be possible? He hadn't called her. She didn't even know where he lived._

Slowly, she stood up and he noticed the paper in her hands. And it all came flooding back in torrents. He blanched. _How did she get here? Why is she here?_ His sleep-deprived and alcohol-laden mind was not wrapping itself around that.

She crossed the room, "Wyatt, I-I" she stammered. _Stop panicking. Talk to him._ "I'm sorry; we're going to find who did this." _That was incredibly lame._

He jumped to his feet, "There is no 'we' in this Lucy." His harsh words sliced like a hot knife through the early morning silence as he angrily grabbed the letter from her, "I think I know who did this, and he's not only a smart man. He's a trained, armed man, who works for the Feds. You can't even shoot a gun. This is my battle not yours."

 _Chauvinist._

Wyatt was fishing through his closet to find a shirt, his back to Lucy. But she could feel the anger emanating off of him like the calm before a storm hit. _He's not the only one._

 _How dare he dismiss her so easily, after everything they'd been through?_ She grasped her hand tightly on his taunt shoulder and forcibly pulled him round so that blazing brown eyes met blue.

"I don't care what you think; this isn't just _your_ battle anymore! What you do, what you don't do-it affects not just you. It affects Rufus and I as well." Her voice rising in pitch with every word until she was turning red in the face and shouting, "What if there's another mission? What if Flynn takes out the mothership while you're off playing sheriff in the wild west?"

He leaned in till he was a less than a palm's width from her face. _Intimidation drill sergeant style._ "Cause that's all you care about, is it? Your bloody history books! My wife is dead. DEAD." His eyes were cold as ice, the lines tensed in his forehead and for the first time his expression truly scared Lucy.

"And for once, in all these long years since she died I can finally put this to rest, and _find_ her killer, bring him to justice and all you can think of is that goddamn fucking time machine!" he roared in her face

"NO!" her sharp, but equally commanding voice cut in, pointing to the letter, "That isn't all I'm thinking about. I'm thinking about you-Wyatt. James. _Fucking_ Logan. Because he won't think of his goddamn self!" was the furious retort. "You may not care about you, but your wife _died_ to protect _you_."

"She clearly thought _you_ were worth dying for. And I'll be _damned_ if I let you or anyone else destroy that sacrifice she made!"

She wasn't sure how, but she had been shaking him; embarrassed she let him go, but stood her ground. Wyatt remained motionless, his unguarded emotions rushing across his face like water pouring over river rapids as it ran downstream. _If I didn't know better I'd say he was dumbfounded._

Taking a deep breath her quavering voice finished more calmly, "Like it or not Wyatt, this is _our_ fight."

Suddenly, forgotten from the doorway in the corner, came Rufus's voice, "I uh-actually agree with Lucy," He motioned to his stack of papers slowly advancing into the room, "finished the code guys. Just like I feared," his nervous voice continued, "Rittenhouse murdered your wife Wyatt." He paused looking up, "This _is_ our fight."

 **A/N:** So, there's more to come on the code in the next chapter but it seemed best to end this chapter here.

If anyone wants to complain about Wyatt's alcohol intake and lack of a hangover/perfect memory retention yeah he drank a shit ton, but everyone I ever knew in the service had a good tolerance, and special forces I imagine probably has an even better tolerance. Also, from a personal note, never been hungover myself from straight liquor nomatter how much I've had-good genes, therefore it is possible.

Yes I totally ship Wyatt/Lucy. But I want it done right. Not quickly.

Shameful plug for reviews! We authors do appreciate them


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** So yeah, I'm not even going to try to disappoint you guys by inventing a code. I can't do that. Suffice to say, the important contents are summarized.

Sorry for the tardy update, this chapter was a tough one, I had to really manipulate some stuff to get what I wanted, and had a bit of a writer's block as to _how_ to make it all make sense.

 **Chapter 5**

His anger was rising. He could feel it. Normally, he was much better keeping his emotions in check _. Ever since Arkansas when he'd revealed far too much-it seemed like they were unraveling like the skeins of wool Jessica used to knit her blankets with._

Things weren't helped by the fact that Lucy and Rufus were currently arguing over how to tell the story of the last 48 hours- _that neither of them had the full picture of_ -to Agent Christopher in his apartment of all places.

It had been determined that Wyatt's was the least likely to be bugged or monitored of all the meeting locations. _Which given his mildly paranoid tendencies was probably true._ He took this as a small compliment. However, he was less than pleased at having his personal space invaded to be used as a makeshift command center.

Wyatt had suspected Rittenhouse was behind Jessica's murder before he'd finished reading her letter the first time through. _Why else would she put it in code?_ Rufus had confirmed it though.

He had even suspected Justin Abernathy, Jessica's ex-boyfriend that lean, tall calculating man with a dead-eye shot who also happened to be a seasoned FBI agent; she'd been talking to him that night. It was he who made Wyatt so stupidly jealous as to desert his wife on the side of the road.

What had been less clear to him, but not completely surprising was that Jessica had implicated her own father, Richard Graham in Rittenhouse, which explained her affiliation-albeit unwilling-with them. _The man never liked me, nomatter how hard I worked for it._

Where Rufus had floored him, had floored Lucy was the mention of a Benjamin Cahill. Lucy's own biological father who was apparently the mastermind behind it all, the puppeteer who pulled the strings on the marionettes that were Justin Abernathy, Richard Graham, Jessica and himself. While she hadn't spelled it out outright, Jessica hinted that something he learned-unconsciously or consciously-in Syria was part of what Rittenhouse had wanted out of him. And she had told Justin and her father she wouldn't do it.

She wouldn't betray her husband. She wouldn't betray her country. She refused to even put him in that position. To even ask him for what they had wanted. There was no mention of _what_ exactly they wanted from him, even in her code. She had refused, steadfastly, to even allow that to be an option.

 _Greater love hath no man than this…_

A priest's words from long ago echoed in his head, and Wyatt found him asking himself what he would have done had Jessica asked.

Instead, she had picked a fight with Abernathy in the bar; to make him remember Abernathy-like he wouldn't have recognized that bastard anywhere. Wyatt knew one of his many character flaws was his jealousy and possessiveness when it came to her. And while Abernathy was likely her killer, and probably killed her because she refused to allow him to be compromised; he had still put her-his defenseless wife-in a vulnerable position to a killer. _When you should have been protecting her._

Having long since fallen into his memories and self-loathing, he was no longer paying attention to Agent Christopher and his team in their discussion.

Head down, hands in his pockets feeling defeated he walked out of the room and down the hall opening the door to the spare room.

 _There was only one end left for him._ _To avenge her._

The room was furnished with only a singular window, a desk and the board with papers, notes, scribbles and intersecting lines of scarlet thread like a drunken murderous spider's web, with his dead wife's photo in the center.

Wyatt ignored these though, heading for the closet. The safe, a brief punch of the combination and the electronic noise and the door opened. _The time had finally come._ Pulling out his favored AR-15, so similar to his Army issue rifle, he started checking the sights and other components, racked back the bolt and smiled with its reassuringly familiar loud clack.

He was startled from his preparations when his gun barrel was moved aside and instead Lucy was standing in front of him. Dimly he registered Agent Christopher and Rufus off in the corner behind them.

"What are you doing?" was the historian's soft question, her hand still firmly gripping his barrel and preventing him from bringing it back up. It was almost as if she knew. She knew how fragile he was. _Could she really read me that well?_

Drawing a steadying breath, "I'm going to kill them," was Wyatt's simple and infinitely complicated response.

Lucy's face fell and she audibly sucked in her breath, "And you have every right to." She replied on the verge of tears, but she advanced on him, taking the weapon and removing it from his reach, "But you told me they were smart, you told me they were dangerous," she slowly took his face in her hands, fiercely whispering, "Don't let Jessica's death be in vain, we have to plan this. Carefully."

Her proximity, the scent of some flower he couldn't name, her pleading expression. It brought to the forefront the guilt he known was coming. The guilt he'd been dreading ever since Rufus had mentioned Cahill and Lucy had broken down almost instantly confirming he was her father.

His vision was blurring, _he was losing control_.

"I have to kill your father." His voice quavered, betraying his weakness towards her. Towards Lucy. Towards all of them. It was both a question as much as it was a statement. _Was he asking for her permission?_ He wasn't even sure anymore about anything. His head spun.

 _Damned alcohol hasn't burned off yet._

 _What kind of a world was this, where he had to kill his friend's father to avenge his dead wife?_

But she looked him straight in the eye when she replied, "I know." There was no hesitation there on her face. His confusion must have been clearly stamped on his, and Lucy looked about to say something else when she was interrupted.

"Which is why if you'd been paying attention Master Sergeant, you'd know what we've been planning," Agent Christopher's firm and commanding voice cut in, albeit with more than a slight hint of frustration.

She sighed, "The only one who seems to know more than we do about Rittenhouse is Flynn, if we are going to take them down we _need_ his intel on how to do it."

She raised her hand to stop his objection, "I _said_ intel _NOT_ cooperation. We do not cooperate with _terrorists_ , which is still what he is. One of his men we've been following has gotten sloppy lately. We know when and where he's going next." She paused, glancing back at the soldier to make sure she still had his attention.

"He's going to early 1746, in Scotland, which Lucy tells me is right in the middle of the Jacobite rebellion and Scottish civil war against the English crown."

"Which makes zero sense whatsoever-" Rufus interrupted, finding his voice again. "Besides, how the hell am I going to fit into the middle of a Scottish clan war as a black man? I'm telling you, you there's no reason for him to go there, America doesn't even exist yet!"

Lucy broke in at that point, arguing a finer historical point no doubt, but at some point in the middle of Rufus's rant, the fog of the alcohol finally burned off, and Wyatt realized what was going on.

 _Checkmate._ His grandfather's voice echoed in his mind.

"Actually it makes perfect sense." He said his dead-tone of finality interrupting them, "He's going after us-as a team."

Three pairs of incredulous faces turned on him; Agent Christopher was the first to regain her tongue, "How so? He's had opportunities to kill you before and not done so."

"I wondered after the Hindenberg incident if there hadn't been more than one happy side-effect for Flynn. By removing Amy from the equation he might have been trying to discourage Lucy from interfering more, since she had already lost someone so important to her." Wyatt didn't want to look at Lucy's face when he said this, he could already feel her anger rising just from proximity, and he knew that in that moment he couldn't take it. He couldn't handle Lucy's anger and his own.

Instead he continued, looking directly at Agent Christopher, "He's been continually attacking Lucy's storyline. She loses a father, gains a bastard for one instead, loses her sister and gains a fiancé she doesn't even know. He's trying to convince her to stop messing with time. To stop messing with him." He paused for breath.

"You'll say he's been trying to turn Lucy, that he wants to work with her because of this journal, I would say he doesn't-he wants her dead-because I think he knows she's the only one who can truly stop him. But he hasn't figured out how to get rid of her yet. Because we don't know _how or when he_ got her journal yet. What if he killed Lucy in a future time for her journal because of the intel on Rittenhouse in it? He killed her because she _wouldn't_ cooperate with him? Because time terrorism isn't the right way to do this?"

Wyatt could hardly believe the words that were spewing out of his mouth. _It seemed as if he was only comprehending this devious plan of Flynn's only as he voiced it aloud._ But intel, good intel was crucial for a successful mission. It kept you one step ahead of the enemy. He could see the battle plan now, and much as he hated to admit it, _Agent Christopher and Lucy were right._

To truly avenge Jessica, he needed more information-more intelligence-on their habits, skills, hangouts and flaws. _And Flynn had it. That damned journal was helping him take them down as well as Rittenhouse._

"That's all well and good, but that doesn't explain what you said earlier about trying to take you all out one by one." Agent Christopher retorted bringing him back to present.

"Black and white." The soldier stated, "He hasn't succeeded in deterring Lucy, so he's switched targets and methods. I'm Scottish on both sides, I had an ancestor-a young boy-who survived the massacre at the Battle of Culloden in 1746 at the end of the rebellion because a French soldier took him in and hid him. If my ancestor doesn't survive that battle, I don't exist in the here and now."

There was another pause as he sighed, "And I don't have a journal he needs to prevent him from killing me outright." He finally spared a glance at Lucy, who looked terrified but was trying to get a grip on herself.

Choosing to distract herself, she gritted her teeth, "And if he kills the Duke of Cumberland, the Scots might well win that battle, like I've been saying" she narrowed her eyes in Rufus and Christopher's direction despite her shellshock, "which means we won't have those Scots emigrating to the America, King George II will be overthrown with the entire House of Hanover, which will then mean there is no King George III for America to declare her independence from and we would still be a British colony." She paused for a breath from her rant turning back to Wyatt her eyes filling up, "and Flynn will eliminate Wyatt from existence, thus crippling our ability to contend with him in the future." She abruptly turned away from him again, facing the wall.

"Then go get that cursed journal from Flynn before he figures out how to target another one of you from its pages, and drag whatever intel you can about Rittenhouse out of him too." Agent Christopher ordered. She paused to look each of them in the eye in turn, "Get that information. And I don't care how. I don't need to tell you this your most critical mission yet."

Rufus nodded obediently filed out of the room _rather like a soldier accepting his orders_. Wyatt reflected with admiration for the one-time desk engineer. _He had grown a lot._

Lucy made to follow Rufus but not before shooting a questioning glance in Wyatt's direction.

It was Agent Christopher who approached him though, "I hope you don't mind I had Rufus make copies of the letter and code, and I'm going dig while you're away on Cahill, Abernathy and Graham. When you come back between what I've learned and you've gathered-we will take them down. I give you my word."

The soldier looked at the agent, and recognized the steel in her eyes and sighed and nodded. _One more mission._

 **A/N:** So what do you all think? Did you think they were going to go on another mission? Bit of a 180, but there's a lot of good reasons why I chose to send them back out. As you will eventually discover.

I know, this great journal is pretty much God in this series, how does it work? Does it update itself? What's in it? How far did Lucy write it? Why did Lucy write it?

And yeah, I didn't change the name of my killer, because as we found out in the last episode, Wes Gilliam wasn't really Jessica's killer.

One last serious note. I think the power of the storyline with Jessica exists in the tragedy she was, and the damage her loss made to Wyatt's psyche. While I absolutely want Wyatt and Lucy together (which would prohibit Jessica from ever coming back), I think the stories that stick with you are the tragic ones. And I wanted to show that Jessica loved Wyatt so much, she died for him. She valued him that much, because in the end it's partially her love that is going to get him to value his own life again. So in short, no Jessica won't be a baddie, nor will she be coming back, at least in my story.

Thanks for reading! Don't forget to watch the last two episodes live at 10pm EST on NBC to help get us renewed! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** I'm super sorry at the late update. I really dropped the ball on this one. Eeeek!

Anyway, finale was crazy! I kinda guessed something was up with Carolyn, but totally did not see Jiya coming. Lastly, be patient I am a Wucy shipper 100% but Wyatt and Lucy need to get to that point together.

Also, thank you to all of my lovely reviewers, really does help encouraging us :D

 **Chapter 6**

For once, Lucy was glad that it only took Flynn another two days to pull his plans together, and the mayhem that typically preceded each mission was slightly more organized this time. Agent Christopher came to notify them it was time during the middle of the shooting lesson that Wyatt had been giving Rufus and Lucy in the bowels of Mason Industries.

It had actually been Lucy's idea for the shooting lesson, on some unconscious level she knew that Wyatt needed to stay occupied until Flynn left-or they would lose him. _She would lose him._

The last two days had torn the trio from their normal post holiday activities into Lucy's new and dictatorial pre-deployment regimen. No relaxing with family over hot cocoa by the fire or preparing for New Year's Day for them. Instead it had been an exhausting blur of a crash course in Highlands Gaelic dialect-apparently one of Wyatt's four languages courtesy of his grandfather; deafening shooting lessons hour after hour until the recoil from the gun was making Lucy's hands shake, and bruising self-defense classes that left her more sore than she'd been in her entire life.

Wyatt had said he would not go easy on them, and he was true to his word. Her muscles could testify to that. And she was jealous of Rufus's seeming ability to shrug it all off.

The engineer had snatched his free moments perfecting a better cloaking shield for the Lifeboat; while Wyatt drank more coffee than Lucy thought humanly possible. _And studiously avoided being alone with her. At least he hadn't found Connor Mason's whisky stash._

Lucy had tried to make Wyatt learn some basic French phrases, but even with his gift for languages, she couldn't get him to sit still long enough and gave up. Letting him rip his knuckles apart on the punching bag in the basement seemed safer for his sanity then a French textbook for the time being.

Connor Mason had been hard-pressed to pull the very specific costumes on such short notice for them (Scottish Highlands in 1746 had not been thought a prime location for Flynn's threat), but not only had the nervous wreck of a scientist done that, he'd also managed to forge the letter Lucy had requested. A letter of introduction for one Chevalier and Highland Knight William James Gordon from no less than King Louis XV of France complete with the impossible to replicate seal.

 _It was going to be crucial to make Prince Charles believe them._ She knew it was going to be their hardest mission yet, not only from the obvious flimsy cover story for Rufus of a rescued former English slave now in the service of a Scottish Knight turned French Chevalier back to Highland warrior again.

They not only had to stop Flynn, save Wyatt's boy ancestor, but they had to capture Flynn or the journal to get the intel they needed to take down Rittenhouse. _Or they would lose Wyatt too._

She knew that Wyatt's mind wasn't one hundred percent with them. He only talked out of necessity since leaving his apartment, and she knew he wasn't sleeping much if at all. He would never meet her eyes; he would always disappear when a few spare minutes evinced themselves long enough for a conversation.

Lucy was not kidding herself when she watched her haunted friend. He only capitulated to go on this mission for the sake of intelligence to take down his wife's murderers.

 _Until he avenged Jessica they would not get him back._

Rufus was standing on the launchpad area already, having a discussion with Mason about something when the older man shoved a bag that clinked into the pilot's hands, but the rest of their exchange was not congenial. Rufus looked mutinous, and stalked off to the Lifeboat to conduct flight pre-checks.

Mason advanced on her, walking back towards the command center, pausing in the middle of the grated metal gangway; he extended the sealed envelope to her, heavy blue wax seal pressed into the parchment, "The letter you requested." He stated, "I apologize for the lack of stocked items, but I trust everything else was to your requirement?" he asked so politely. _She had always had a hard time gauging him, like he was perpetually afraid of his shadow, yet yearning to break free of it at the same time._

Glancing down at her purple wide-hooped dress accented with intricate ivory lace, white rose brooch pinned on her shoulder holding in place her heavier wool shawl, a precaution against the early Highlands spring weather. She glanced up again, "Of course," she smiled but her nervousness prevented the smile from reaching her eyes, despite Mason turning out everything he had for their latest kit.

She felt a cold, hard nudge on her shoulder despite the plaid and turned around, "Now she's ready." Wyatt stated as he extended her a modern pistol, "You've got a hell of a lot more room to hide a modern weapon than I do." She accepted the pistol and squirreled it away in the folds of her dress. Wyatt winked as he pushed past them walking towards the Lifeboat with a stack of weapons Lucy _knew_ did not exist in 1746, let alone in Scotland.

 _She was not staring at his semi-bare legs. She was not._

"Wyatt!" Lucy yelled in a halting voice, "You can't bring an arsenal of modern weapons with you to that battlefield! Imagine what the English will do with them in forty years!"

He stopped to turn around and favor her with a harsh glare, "This is Scotland's Alamo, Lucy. As you well know. Except they lose their independence instead of gaining it. And besides, they won't have the technology to attempt to replicate these guns for another sixty years at the earliest."

She should have had a comeback for that, something to do with bringing the Industrial Revolution about earlier, but she was just staring stupidly at him.

 _It looked like he had walked out of time._ Suddenly the magnitude of what they were about to do hit her like a train going a hundred miles an hour. Time seemed to freeze as she stared at Wyatt in his brown muted wool jacket, worn leather vest over his loose linen shirt and the Gordon clan kilt strapped at his waist with nearly knee-high thick leather boots. She noted the sword and a flintlock pistol anchored on his belt. It was the sword she objected to the most though. With its basket cage hilt it was accurate to be sure. _Too accurate._

British history was not quite her forte the way she knew American, but she knew the Highlanders were poorly armed against the Government. She knew many of them died from muskets over swords. Biting her lip so hard it bled, the spell had broken. Finally, she acknowledged to herself that they had set themselves to an impossible task. _We're never going to get out of here alive._

"Fine just bring them." She murmured as she awkwardly pushed passed Mason and then Wyatt in her ridiculous skirts, fleeing towards the Lifeboat, fearing she was losing her composure.

Rufus gave her an odd look when she stormed into the Lifeboat and sat down in her seat, fumbling with her buckles over her costume. Whenever she got the skirt down she lost grip of the belt or vice versa.

"Bloody, fucking sexist costumes with these damned hoops! These were _not_ intended for time travel!" She swore furiously as she attempted to force the belt over her bodice for the third time with evident frustration. "I think they were intended to keep women in the house!"

Wyatt climbed in mid-rant smirking at her choice of language, before he stashed his weapons he stood looking down over her. "Would you like some help there Lassie?"

 _If looks could kill, Wyatt Logan would be a dead man right now._

"What do I look like? Your _wife_?"She snapped in anger. She heard Rufus hiss from his controls in warning, and even before the words had finished leaving her mouth, she wished she could recall them. She shut her eyes and cringed inwardly. _What had taken over her? She was never this callous._

When she finally had the courage to open her eyes again, Wyatt's face was as unreadable as she imagined Stonehenge would be.

"Suit yourself." He replied curtly, and turned around to sit in his own seat, strapping in his own restraints in place as if it were second nature. He stared right past her as if she were not even there.

"Ready?" interrupted Rufus. Lucy looked down at her still unfastened straps.

"No" she answered emphatically, willing Wyatt to make eye contact with her.

The pilot turned around, looking at his two passengers with exasperation, "Look here you two. I don't want to go on this mission anymore than either of you. In fact, I don't even _look_ like I _belong_ in this period or location." He intentionally switched his gaze from Lucy to Wyatt, and then back. "Time traveling sucks. But we're a team, and that's the only way we're going to get through this."

There was a pregnant pause, while he let this sink in. "Now act like the Delta Force Soldier and World-Class Historian that you are, and stop acting like children." Rufus directed. Wyatt finally met her eyes, but neither of them spoke, despite the long pause.

Rufus sighed "And I thought you both should know, I really don't like the sound of haggis. So can we please get this over with?" the engineer implored

Lucy burst out laughing, and Wyatt followed suit.

"Seriously, isn't that like lamb's liver or something equally terrible?" Rufus asked, deadly serious.

Wyatt almost snorted, "Amongst other things, yes it is Rufus. But it's not half bad when you get used to it." Lucy stared at the soldier.

"I didn't mean it Wyatt." She apologized just above a whisper.

He had already moved to fasten her belts down not quite meeting her eyes as he methodically moved through them, "Good. Because as you will remember, Prince Charles is a first-rate womanizer." He paused and looked up at her, almost unwillingly.

"So?" she countered, breath catching despite the short syllable.

His icy eyes met her ebony ones, his tone brooked no argument, "The only way I can truly protect you here with two warring and uncivilized armies, not to mention a Prince who will screw anything in petticoats, is if you're willing to play my wife."

 **A/N:** Yeah so in case you think Lucy's out of character in this chapter I'm trying to show the immense stress she's under right now. She's freaking out because of not only the magnitude of the mission, but also the distinct possibility of losing Wyatt. Which she had never considered to be a risk.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Sorry it's a short chapter and a transition one at that, but it's necessary. And for the record, I've no talent with imitating accents, however I've tried. And no offense is meant by any comments in this chapter; please remember this is set in the past. And I'm trying to make it as authentic as possible.

 **Chapter 7**

In anticipation of the need for quick escape, they landed the Lifeboat a few miles into some marsh to the northwest of where Lucy believed the battlefield ended, and they began their six mile track into Inverness, four days before the massacre would stain the very ground they walked on red with the blood of the fallen.

"Why the hell would anyone choose marshland to fight a battle in?" Rufus inquired indignantly as he narrowly avoided wrenching his ankle in an unseen bog.

A thick mist surrounded them and the sun was barely above the horizon, they had not been noticed by any of the locals yet, and Lucy was glad for that.

"Because you either have an idiot for a commander, or you are trapped." Wyatt stated succinctly, "Or both in this case." Muttering the last part barely above a whisper. _They certainly would stand out even without Rufus in any case, her wardrobe choice was all wrong. She should never have let Mason make her a purple dress. She had forgotten with all their planning that purple dye was much more expensive in this day and age than it was in theirs. Elementary mistake._ Her face flushed at the thought.

She was startled from her reverie by Wyatt making a quick motion to be quiet and duck into the grove of trees. Moments later from behind her rocky outcropping she observed a road in the distance and heard the sound of horses' hooves.

Rufus was breathing heavily next to her out of sight, the flintlock pistol jammed awkwardly into his belt, "Hope it's not the bloody Red Coats." He muttered angrily.

"Ssshhh!" Wyatt hissed from his position behind a nearby pine tree, pistol drawn.

From Lucy's uneducated guess, she thought she heard a carriage approaching, and she sneaked a peek above the cool, damp granite edge only to see that Wyatt left his cover, apparently deciding they weren't a threat and was approaching the old but well-maintained carriage, motioning for it to stop.

Lucy tapped Rufus on the shoulder, motioning for him to get up. The driver had pulled up the two mares, but only apparently to draw his gun squarely on Wyatt.

Taking quick stock of the situation, she thought she saw a female face glimpse through the curtains in the carriage before drawing them back, and Wyatt was exchanging something she wasn't quite following in Gaelic with the driver, and he motioned to them, beckoning her forward.

"What is going on?" Rufus hissed under his breath nervously as his eyes darted between the driver and Wyatt. Lucy noted his hand rested uneasily on his bulging left side where his pistol was concealed.

"If I have to venture a guess, he thinks Wyatt is a highwayman come to rob them, and Wyatt is going to use us to prove he's not."

Wyatt motioned again for them to come over him, "My wife, Lucille, our servant and I were traveling to Inverness to meet up with the Prince on a matter of great importance, when our carriage broke down. We mean you no harm, I swear it." Wyatt held up his hands in the universal signal of surrender. _Thank God he's switched to English_. While she recognized that she knew some of what he'd said earlier, by the time she'd figured out one Gaelic word she had lost the rest of the sentence.

"If ye're a Gordon as ye say, then why have ye switched to the language of the English?" The driver frowned down at Wyatt from his perch. "An' what is a Gordon doin' with a blackie Moor up here in Scotland?" He narrowed his eyes at them.

She stepped forward, careful to avoid the muddy rut at the edge of the road or her leather shoes would be soaked, "My husband knows that I do not speak Gaelic, I'm from France you see, and we are on an errand to the Prince."

The driver looked about to say something, when the carriage door opened, and out stepped a charming young woman, in a bold and low-cut yellow frock, with a white rose pinned to her shoulder.

 _It couldn't be. There were only rumors that Clementia and the Prince had begun their affair during the '45._

She put on a slightly exasperated expression, turning to face her driver, "Douglas, what is it these good people desire? Have I heard mention of France?"

Douglas tipped his hat to his mistress before dismounting, "Mistress these folks say that they're on an errand to the Prince and their carriage has broken a ways back." He spared a skeptical glance at Wyatt and Rufus.

"Douglas, you know how Charles desires we get to him as speedily as possible so that I may nurse his cold, why should we not bring them with us, and stop this senseless delay?" She pleaded. Clementia must have been in her early to mid-twenties. _The right age for the real Clementia._

"Mistress, I dinna-" Douglas began motioning emphatically.

"Excuse me," Lucy began, "If I may?" She reached into the folds her dress, and pulled out the envelope with King Louis's seal waving it at Clementia, "We must deliver this in person to the Prince, it contains urgent information for him."

She narrowed her eyes, "Let me see that!" She reached for the envelope, but Lucy held it steady, "My husband and I were directed to give it to none other than the Prince himself."

After a few moments of Clementia peering at the seal, she seemed to suddenly lose interest, turning she waved her hand behind her carelessly, "Douglas, load their things. Let us get back on the road, I will not hold up the messengers from the King of France."

Before mounting in the carriage again she popped her head out for one last instruction, "But the Moor shall have to ride with you. Charles would not appreciate my having been in such close quarters with a Moslem."

Rufus looked about to object when Wyatt interrupted, "Mistress, I am William James Gordon, son of Donald Gordon of Lossiemouth." he swept her a dramatic bow, "May I ask your name?"

She giggled like a schoolgirl, extending her hand to him. Lucy unsuccessfully tried not to roll her eyes. "Mistress Clementia Walkinshaw, daughter of John Walkinshaw and good friend to Prince Charles Edward." She gave him a flirty smile after he knelt to kiss her hand.

Wyatt's blue eyes flashed mischief towards Lucy as if to ask, _Another mistress?_ Before returning to the young lady. He made a grand sweep towards Lucy, "May I present my wife, Lucille Gordon, daughter of Sieur Henri de Narbonne?" He then motioned towards Rufus as well, "And this is my faithful servant-"

"Mr. Morgan Freeman" Rufus interrupted, Clementia smirked.

Wyatt bit his lip trying not to laugh, "My faithful servant, Mr. Morgan Freeman whom I rescued out of slavery from the English." He paused becoming more serious, "And I assure you Mademoiselle, that he is no more a Moslem than you or I, but a good Christian."

"Moslem or not, there is little room in the carriage." She replied somewhat testily.

"Then my servant and I shall ride atop with Douglas, you could use with more protection, and my wife shall ride with you." Wyatt countered, politely, but firmly.

Lucy shot him daggers, but the soldier ignored her.

"It's settled then," Clementia spoke, "Mrs. Gordon, if you wouldn't mind joining me?"

No sooner had the carriage started rolling then Clementia sank back onto the cushions with a sigh, "Charles misses me so, he has another dreadful cold again. He says it's the murky weather we've been having of late." She began conversationally.

Lucy tried to glimpse the rugged countryside through the ancient curtains as they rushed by. The occasional jolt when they hit a rut in the road reminded her how much she preferred asphalt to muddy Highland paths.

She was only half listening to Clementia ramble on about the Prince and her uncle, who had been instrumental in introducing them a few months back.

 _Does she know that what she dreams of-becoming Queen-will never happen? Does she know how many men will die for her lover in less than a week?_

"Lucille-may I call you that?-I asked you something." Clementia gently chided her, drawing her back from her reflections. The sig sauer Wyatt had pressed into her hands back in California only a couple of hours ago bit uncomfortably through her thin undergarments, a stark reminder of what they were here to do.

"Of course," Lucy smiled placatingly before rubbing her forehead against a dull pain, "And I'm afraid you must forgive me, we are rather tired after walking for so long through the moors and bogs. Not quite made for this." She shook her head.

Clementia smiled, "Of course not. That's what your fine man is made for, now isn't he?" She smiled and winked mischievously.

Lucy felt a hot flush creeping up her cheeks.

Clementia drew back the curtain to glance outside, not facing Lucy when she commented, "I suppose that would make him rather good in bed now wouldn't it?"

 _Damn you Wyatt._ There was a reason she hated being stranded with mistresses after Judith Campbell. _This was going to be a very long trip to town after all._

 **A/N:** I always thought Judith (and mistresses in general) are rather observant. Don't you?


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** First note, I'm not Lucy and while I do like history a lot, and I've done some research there are bound to be some historical inaccuracies here, and I apologize for them. The first I will acknowledge is that I believe it was actually a really old castle on the sight of Culloden Moor at the time of the battle that was late destroyed and replaced by said Georgian Manor house I've described here. But a semi-ruined castle wasn't going to be a good setting so I opted not to use it.

Secondly, this a super long chapter I know, but I really hope you all will like it. I tried to cut it down in length but it just wasn't working, so enjoy!

 **Chapter 8**

The lackey closed the door behind him, leaving the three incongruous time travelers alone in a private, if not incredibly large but well-furnished room. _Oh the benefits to claiming to know the King of France, to whom Prince Charles was depending on greatly for this rebellion._ Lucy reflected , slowing taking in the single four poster bed with clean linen curtains, a dressing table that looked ancient even for the current era, a small chair next to well-worn trunk and the large windowseat with cushions overlooking the Empire-Style gardens outside.

Prince Charles and all his retainers were to be housed in what would be known in later decades as the Culloden House, a stunning Georgian manor in its own right that overlooked Drummosie Moor, _another name that would change after this bloodbath._ The regular highland regiments of course were camped outside in tents, and it hadn't taken long for the historian to notice the lack of food and proper medicine amongst them in their short traverse through the ranks as they approached the house earlier.

 _How could this ragtag group of rebels, nomatter how justified in their grievances against the crown-hope to defeat the mass of the great British Army?_

 _She had glimpsed hardened men amongst their ranks, men whose scars told of English oppression. She saw old men, one or two missing a limb and no doubt veterans from the last uprising. She saw women with bitter smiles, spit at the ground in anger when George II was mentioned. She saw young boys sharpening swords alongside their fathers._

 _They might wear plaid kilts, and speak with thick Gaelic, but were they really that different from their American counterparts-some their very descendants a few decades later? The same ideals of freedom and desperate desire to overthrow a distant oppressive government echoed across the fields. Across these grim faces._

 _It was one thing to know history, it was quite another to live it. She had reflected. Slowly rubbing her temples, she heard the haunting tune of a piper in the distance as they approached the mansion._

As emissaries from the King of France which they were supposed to be, they had been afforded a small but private room overlooking the gardens from the outer "Garden House" but not the main building itself where the Prince and his mistress Clementia were housed.

"I'm claiming the windowseat." Rufus sank down onto it with a sigh, "Now what?"

Wyatt looked up from his initial inventory of the room, replacing the rug after stomping on it. _What did he expect? Another secret passage like at Castle Valar?_

"Well we have an audience with the Prince just before midday tomorrow, and we need to get some recon done before then." Wyatt began turning back to face her, "Lucy, what does that letter actually say?"

Closing her eyes the historian pressed to her fingers to her temples again with more force. _Of all the times to get a migraine, now was not opportune._ She sighed, "It's a bunch of pretty promises and lies pledging more men and money for the rebellion as long as Charles manages to defeat Cumberland." She paused opening her eyes again, noting that Wyatt had latched on her apparent sign of weakness; she narrowed her eyes at him. "Which of course he will never do. However, it also introduces us more or less as spies-" She motioned to Wyatt, "And in your case a source of knowledge on enemy tactics, particularly Cumberland since you fought against him on the continent. So I hope you know British military history-"

"Wait a second, we're _spies_ , is that _really_ the best cover story you and Mason could come up with?" the incredulity and rising pitch of Rufus's voice made her cringe. _God her head hurt._ She closed her eyes and pressed her thumbs into her temples again. Relief from the pressure was temporary at best.

"Yes Rufus, we needed to move freely and not get conscripted into the main battle lines, it was the only way to do it. And there's just enough money in the letter to make the Prince believe it, and we should be long gone before he can ever check the story." She staggered back on to the edge of the bed and sat on it, steadying herself against the post.

Little black stars flickered across her vision. _This was not good._

She felt a firm hand under her chin, pulling her face up, "Lucy what's wrong?" Wyatt asked in a soft monotone. Rufus stood just behind him, eyebrows knit together.

"Is it black stars?" The engineer asked

"Really. Bad. Migraine." Lucy said over him

"What?" Wyatt turned to look at Rufus with a questioning glance.

"Is it black stars?" Rufus repeated, stepping forward and looking earnestly at her, but the edges of her vision were fading.

Her mouth was dry when she tried to speak, "Yes, but more." She croaked out. She was dimly aware of Rufus scratching the back of his head.

"The further back in time we go from our own time, the more likely we are to get physically sick, our bodies don't like it." He was pacing back and forth across the room now, and a wave of nausea enveloped her, she closed her eyes in response but she could still hear his footsteps pounding like a drum in her skull.

"You mean like sea sickness?" Wyatt asked, "Then why aren't we affected?"

"Sea sickness, motion sickness whatever you'd like to call it, everyone gets it it's really a matter of your tolerance for it. Because I've been further back when I was learning under Anthony, and I got this then, but my body is acclimatizing to it better now. You've been in so many military transports I'm sure you have a better tolerance too. But Lucy-she has none."

She registered his voice had stopped but the back of her neck was now pounding as well and the stars were everywhere.

She thought she heard Wyatt's voice raised, but the pain was too much to process what she was hearing. A hand brushed her forehead and her shoulder, "Just lie down Lucy" a male voice said. Obeying she tried to fight the hammers on her skull, but when she opened her eyes the black stars were there, and when she closed them the panic and nausea would set in.

Glass and metal screeched in her mind and something cool and oddly modern tasting was forced into her mouth. Then the black stars consumed her vision.

In the black consciousness, a door creaked shut, hushed whispers in the distance, she opened her eyes and saw stars.

Real stars. White Stars. There was a window and she jerked up, "Where am I?" Immediately she regretted that, her head was still pounding, but thankfully not as much as before.

"Lucy!" Rufus swerved towards her and hissed, "Shh!" Wyatt closed the door behind him and covered the squeaky floorboards to where she sat on the bed in a few long strides.

"How is she?" He asked Rufus, as he examined her in the dim light. Rufus had a singular candle lit over by his window perch, and she realized she must have been asleep for more than a few hours.

"Well the extra heavy dose of Nyquil kept her asleep until you barged in," was his semi-sarcastic retort which he thankfully kept his voice at a near whisper for her. "But you'll have to ask her how she's feeling now."

Confusion spread over her face "You dosed me with Nyquil? How?"

Rufus smiled slightly pulling out his small glass vial filled with the familiar modern green liquid, "Been carrying it since our first mission, we were going to need it sooner or later. Anthony always carried some too, said it was the most effective and yet innocuous thing we could bring to counter-act the time travel sickness in the past."

A smile had been creeping over Wyatt's face, "Well if she's chiding you for bringing back modern medicine Rufus, I'd say she's feeling better?" His annoying smirk asked her, but he had nonetheless extended a hand to help her up.

"Much better." She sighed, placing her still clammy hand in his stronger one. Rufus looked her over, brotherly concern written on his honest face, as Wyatt helped her up.

 _How had she earned the respect, friendship and trust of these two good and honest men?_ Her mind spun, but not from migraines or time travel. _Her life had changed so much. Her best friends were one of their era's most brilliant engineers and a highly decorated soldier scarred with PTSD. She was no longer a simple historian._

"Don't move too fast and we'll keep the lights and sounds as low as possible until morning," Rufus cautioned as she sat slowly in the sole chair in the room. Rufus moved his candle to a more obscure position before seating himself on the windowseat again, Wyatt already settled on the floor, unpacking a small bundle on the floor.

The soldier began his briefing, "From what I've been able to gather the Duke of Cumberland's army is on the march from Aberdeen," Lucy watched as Wyatt scratched out awkwardly with a quill pen he was clearly not used to, a rudimentary map on a wrinkled piece of vellum. A small smile spread to her features, her inner competitive streak surfacing as a large blot of ink appeared on his makeshift map and Wyatt cursed a string of modern swears. _He may have the upper hand for a lot of this mission, but there were some things only a historian like her had a full grasp on._

He continued despite this, "I've been unable to discover the exact whereabouts of Flynn or his men yet, and I didn't want to be gone too long," Wyatt stole a quick glance in her direction and she felt a pang of guilt for hindering their mission."But if he's after the Duke, I still think his easiest way of taking him down is going to be infiltrating Prince Charles's army, which is why we are here-to stop him."

"Are we sure that he's really after the Duke though?" cut in Rufus, "I mean aren't there a lot of historical figures in this area at this point?" Both men looked at her, questioningly.

"He's the largest high profile target, the younger son of the King himself and a seasoned General in his own right from all the Continental Wars." She paused again, "I know it's a bit of a stretch, but this battle is pretty decisive and if the Scots and the Stewarts had succeeded in winning, the French might well have intervened. The Hanovers and Protestantism would be exiled from Britain and the effects would be felt overseas in the Colonies. It is unlikely that they would have declared independence when they did-if they did at all."

"Alright, it's settled then, we need to keep our eyes peeled for Flynn and prevent him from getting the Prince's ear, or he might…make the Scots win." Wyatt finished with an audible swallow. He busied himself with rolling up his map, not meeting either of their eyes.

Rufus stilled him, "Wyatt did you find your ancestor?" The soldier slowly met his friend's eyes, and the candle cast just enough light on his face that Lucy could read it better than she would have wanted to. _The conflict between his loyalty to America and his loyalty to his ancestors was written there for anyone to see._

"Not yet." He said very quietly.

 _I do not envy his position._

The engineer straightened up, "Well let me see if I can gather anything below stairs," Rufus clamped his hand down on his pistol reassuring himself that was still where he'd left it and accepted a nasty looking dirk from Wyatt's pack before heading out of the room.

Lucy stared at Wyatt, willing him to look at her, to talk to her. But he continued to ignore her, systematically checking their supplies, and sharpening a few knives in the soft, dull light from Rufus's sputtering candle.

"I'm not talking about it." He finally stated, peering down the length of his sword as he ran a sharpening stone down the length. She cringed at the loud metallic ring that followed, her equilibrium still not quite recovered.

Ignoring this, she got up from her chair and walked over to him, "Not talking about what?" She prodded.

He spun quickly to face her, quicker than she'd anticipated, and she jumped back just in time to keep from having her dress and possibly skin sliced along the sharp length of steel.

"Sorry I-" He began

"My own clumsiness," She laughed if not a bit nervously. He sheathed the blade; she closed her eyes trying to shut out the sound.

"Lucy you should sit down, I forgot about-"

"No." she reopened her eyes again to see he'd advanced to within an arm's length of her. "Wyatt it's more important, we need to discuss-"

His face was pained, "Lucy, please." he breathed down her neck. Tingles she tried to attribute to her time travel sickness flew down her shoulder like an electric current.

Closing her eyes, she couldn't fight the instinct that drew her closer to him, all thoughts of challenging him about his current loyalties and conflicts on this mission scattered from her mind like leaves in the wind. _There was something magnetic about him, something that she'd never felt before._

"Lucy," his gravelly voice interrupted her consciousness and her eyes flew open, _he was so close to her now she could smell the musky damp leather and fresh rain on him_ , "Lucy I-" his blue eyes felt like they were piercing through her carefully erected walls, his breath was hot on her lips causing her blood to light on fire. He closed his eyes and sighed before drawing in a deep breath.

 _God what she would not give to kiss him again._ The shadows from the candle flickered across his face, as he opened his eyes and made to move back.

 _She knew it was wrong, and she knew he loved Jessica. She knew she was going to regret this later. But in this sliver of time, she truly did not care. Something in her snapped. In that moment she needed to know that it wasn't just her._ She placed her hand on his cheek, unshaven stubble prickling her, drawing him back in so that their noses touched, "Shhh!" she murmured.

Her heart beat quickened, even as she tried to steady her breathing. They stood there, as if in a mutual prayer, foreheads touching. Wyatt reached for her hands, taking them almost possessively into his. His breathing became unsteady as he closed his eyes. "Lucy," he said softly.

She closed her eyes, drawing in her breath.

 _Please._

His low voice broke through her thoughts again, "I've lost nearly everyone I've ever cared about." Her eyes were still closed and Lucy breathed in deeply the unique blend of nature, damp leather and modern aftershave that was Wyatt – his hair still soaked, but she felt the warmth from his forehead pressed to hers, feel his pulse beating in time to her own.

"When Flynn took you, I nearly lost my mind," his soft monotone continued. "I-It was happening all over again," the emotion was creeping in despite his efforts to maintain a steady tone. "The nightmares, the flashbacks." She opened her eyes in surprise, to see her friend losing his composure.

 _Was he about to cry?_

Her heart skipped a beat, but she wasn't quite sure why. "I've done a good job keeping them at bay…until I lost you. Then it started all over again." He swallowed hard and blinking rapidly he broke their contact, looking upward and running his hand through his wet hair before looking down at her again.

"Lucy, you're all I've got left." Desperation edged his words.

"Wyatt," Lucy began slowly, her voice seeming t stick thickly at the back of her throat as she looked at her feet, "I'm not going anywhere." Drawing in a deep breath she paused to lock eyes with him again. "Because I wasn't lying at the Alamo Wyatt…I need you too." Taking a tentative step back towards him, she was surprised when he reached into his pocket to grasp something.

A shadow crossed his face, that Lucy was quite sure didn't come from the candle. "You didn't bring your ring did you?"

 _God, why did him bring up Noah, now of all times?_

"What?" she snapped confusion written on her face, "Why would I bring something that modern that would stand out?"

 _Why are you changing the subject?_

"Cause you've only been berating yourself under your breath since we got here about how the dye on your dress is all wrong," He smirked. She smiled and shook her head slightly.

"I wasn't aware I was saying that out loud." Was her cheeky retort as she cocked her head to one side.

"You say a lot of interesting things when you think no one is listening." He winked at her.

 _What when I'm under an abnormal dose of Nyquil?!_

The soldier's face grew solemn again as he looked down, "Forgive me for stealing this experience from you, but I'm going to be the first man to propose to you in your timeline."

Her mouth suddenly went dry, and her stomach somersaulted into her throat. Her emotions flew around scattering like broken glass.

She looked down, but he was already on his knees, "And I figured you deserved something better than me just dumping a ring on you, but forgive me, I'm rather out of practice." He nearly choked out these last words.

Lucy noticed his hand was trembling visibly as he extended her a small gold band that winked with gemstones she couldn't quite decipher in the dull light, "Lucille from Narbonne, will you be my wife," his stormy eyes pleaded with her, "So that I may protect you?"

She wanted to cry, she wanted to laugh, she wanted to slap him-and she wanted to kiss him all at once. _How could one man elicit so many contrasting emotions in her at once?_

 _Because Wyatt James Logan was a study in contrasts._

All of the books she'd ever written, the lectures she'd planned and the dissertations she'd argued could not have prepared her for this moment. Her mastery of language had deserted her.

All these words she wanted to say to him, but not one made it to her tongue.

A salty tear slid down her cheek instead, and his face became concerned. She smiled reassuringly, trying desperately to find her tongue.

Her soldier looked so very nervous, still kneeling there on the shiny, worn and uneven floorboards, the edges of his plaid just touching the ground, linen undershirt and weather dampened hair.

There was something in those blue eyes though… _didn't the Scots call them 'fey'? Not of this world?_ Something she had never seen before in those other worldly-eyes of his tonight. And the magnitude of whatever that something was, it was directed right at her. Her breathing hitched under the weight of those blue eyes of his and she could not move. _So this was what the lightning bolt felt like._

 _A thousand times yes._

But she couldn't say that. She couldn't describe to Wyatt the feeling that had settled in her chest in that moment, the weight that constricted her breathing with a physical pain. That sliver of time when her brain came to realize what her heart had known ages ago, that in the very moment she knew she had fallen in love with her best friend.

And the realization that she could never have him resulted in tears welling up in her eyes. This moment, this precious, wonderful instant when she was so happy to discover she had finally fallen in love, had finally experienced that lightning bolt from the heavens; was also her moment of greatest heartbreak because he didn't love her. Not that way he loved Jessica. She bit her lip painfully to keep it from quivering.

 _Only you, Lucy Preston would fall in love with her best friend, who is still in love with his dead wife in the middle of a rebellion in the rural highlands of a war-torn country when you're technically still engaged to another man you don't even know._

She furiously blinked back more tears, as she knelt down beside him, purple skirts fanning out behind her like ripples in a disturbed forest pool. She clasped her hands over his.

"Normally I don't have that effect on women." He joked, but his blue eyes betrayed his vulnerability. She leaned into him touching her forehead to his again, desperate for more physical contact. She closed her eyes, trying to untie her tongue. _To find something to say to protect them both._

When she finally found her voice it was so soft she wasn't sure he would even hear her, "Yes." She whispered. Relief flooded his handsome features, and he grabbed her face gently but forcibly and pulled her towards him.

His breathing became ragged, and her eyelids fluttered closed in anticipation. He was so close she could almost taste his breath on her lips.

She tried not to show her disappointment on her face when she felt him grasp the back of her neck, and press his lips to her forehead in a form of benediction. Nonetheless, he still sent delightful shivers from her head to her feet. He pulled away, and cupped his hand under her chin, pulling her face up.

"Are you okay?" he asked earnestly.

The historian nodded quickly, too quickly. She was blinking back tears again for what felt like the umpteenth time in less than a week. _She was becoming a crybaby._

"Lucy I'm sorry I didn't mean to make a mockery of this for you, but I-I thought you deserved something better than finding a ring in the bathroom and being told it's yours. That's cheap-"

Suddenly, and abruptly Lucy was reminded there was more to the world that they were in besides just her and Wyatt when their door flew open, and Rufus walked in.

"Yes!" He did a fist-pump in the air, before he stopped mid-stride taking the two of them in. "Wai-What?" he motioned between the two of them clearly at a loss for words.

Wyatt was on his feet and halfway across the room, closing the door behind Rufus. "It's nothing." He stated firmly in a tone that clearly ended the subject.

The engineer looked skeptically at first Wyatt, and then her before shaking his head. "Look, whatever man. I just wanted to let you both know I've seen Wyatt's ancestor. He's here!"

"Downstairs?" Wyatt queried, hand on the door again.

"No, he just left. He was delivering a message from some Gordon guy, but he looks just like you-except he's a _**ginger**_." Rufus smirked emphasizing the last word, "And looks to be about twelve. Ross Alexander Gordon he said his name was."

"Well at least we know he's not in Flynn's custody _yet_." Wyatt commented drily.

"Anyway, if it's all the same to you guys. Time travel is exhausting, and we've got a lot to do tomorrow." Rufus went over to the chest in the corner, "Any luck on additional blankets in here?"

The chest creaked open and he removed a plain brown wool one, and then turned around when he noticed his companions were staring at him. "What? I told you, that window seat is mine!" The engineer pointed in the direction of his favored retreat.

Suddenly after three days jam packed with stress, it was Rufus's simple indignant response that made Wyatt laugh first, and it was contagious. For the first time in days all three of them genuinely were happy, even if only for a few seconds.

After they settled in for the night, Rufus stubbornly claiming the seat and her nearly having to blackmail Wyatt to get him to share the bed with her she found herself playing with her new ring that Wyatt had placed on her finger in the moonlight.

A simple gold band in a twisted rope pattern, with three colored stones. _You weren't going to find diamonds in the Highlands in this time, and in any case it would make them stand out even more than they already did_. She reflected. She thought it might be a ruby and two darker stones, but she couldn't see for sure in the poor light.

But the band-it fit her finger like a glove. It felt warm and solid. Not cold and loose like its predecessor.

 _She was never giving up this ring. Not even when they got back. This could be paste for all she cared._

She rolled over, facing the wall. "You didn't steal it from me, Wyatt Logan." She choked, tears flooding her vision.

 **A/N:** I expect _lots_ of reviews for this one! Pretty sure the 'not real' proposal is a first so far in fanfiction for these two. I was trying to show that while Wyatt really does have deep feelings for Lucy, hence his desire to not give her another 'cheap' proposal, he's still massively conflicted as shown by his shaking hands and inability to truly kiss her.

Engagement rings have been around for a long time by this point in history, many Celtic cultures particularly the Irish had the Claddagh ring, which was their equivalent. And the Scots and Irish are quite similar in many aspects. The French had also recently come up with the Marquise cut for diamonds, which is a personal favorite of mine. Thus, Wyatt determined Lucy needed a ring to cement their story of a married couple and he wanted it done before they met the womanizing Prince Charles. And you know he wanted to try to do it right, because he's got a guilt complex the size of the Grand Canyon about all the women in his life.

As for time travel sickness/motion sickness everyone gets motion just like Rufus says, however symptoms and tolerance do differ. Ironically I wrote Lucy's illness portion with a migraine myself, so if it sounds like one, that's why. Dramamine is useless if not taken well in advance of the motion sickness exposure, and thus the best resolution for it would be sleep-induced by Nyquil. (Trust me I've experienced all of the above minus the time travel of course.)

Anyway, hope you enjoyed it! And I feel like I forgot a note I was supposed to put on here. Next chapter is from Rufus's perspective. Please review!


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** First off, thank you for all the lovely reviews from the last chapter! I think I was able to PM everyone who left one, if I missed you I sincerely apologize.

Very sorry about the tardiness of this chapter, however I've been super sick lately and Rufus's POV is always harder for me to write. I'm not totally satisfied with this chapter, but I think it's as good as it will get.

In regards to the previous chapter ending, well I did say that this was an Angsty story, but it will have a happy ending. And please keep in mind so far this story has only covered 6 days to this point. :)

 **Chapter 9**

He was startled awake by an insistent shaking. The engineer looked up in the early dawn light to see Wyatt standing over him, a quick glance towards the four poster across the room revealed Lucy was still asleep, cocooned under the blankets.

 _Window seats weren't the most comfortable of things to sleep on, but a hell of a lot better than cold ground._ Rufus reflected with a sigh as he swung his legs over and started to get up. He wasn't entirely sure what Wyatt wanted to do without Lucy, but the soldier must have had his reasons.

 _What had happened between those two yesterday anyway?_

Ignoring his errant thought for the moment, Rufus shoved his foot into his chilly boot, leaning back against the window only to jump back when he realized it was frigid in the early morning air.

 _Probably covered in frost still. Really missing sunny California right now!_

Wyatt had busied himself laying out some hastily acquired food on a handkerchief on top of the trunk. A loaf of bread, some cheese and what appeared to be a sausage. Rufus joined him silently, whispering under his breath, "What about Lucy? Aren't you going to wake her up?"

His friend shook his head, "Let her sleep."

"You're going to leave her alone?" Rufus asked incredulously. _Something changed between them in the last few missions and after Flynn took her, I've never seen him so possessive._

Wyatt would not face him when he responded, but Rufus detected more than a small amount of reticence when he spoke, "Lucy is a damned good shot for someone who has only just learned how to fire a gun."

He reached for the soldier's shoulder and pulled him round to face him, "But she's never shot at a _person_ before Wyatt. Paper targets are not the same, and you and I both know that."

The warring emotions flickered through his blue eyes as for a split second as Rufus watched, he knew Wyatt was conflicted. His friend took a deep breath, "She's a big girl Rufus."

"She's a big girl…" He paused for effect as Wyatt turned away again, "Or are you avoiding her?"

He received no response. But he did note that Wyatt had fished his modern sig sauer out of Lucy's skirts to leave it within her reach and just out of sight before they left, an addition to his normal security check.

So it was a short time later Rufus was once again clambering through muck and cursing the Scottish landscape, weather and rain in every language that he knew. _Which constituted English, and mentally only._

They were looking for Wyatt's ancestor. In the absence of any leads on Flynn himself, Wyatt refused to allow the boy to fall into Flynn's clutches. _Which would have made sense if you forgot about the multi-faceted complex mess that was this mission._

"I am sick of always being two steps behind Flynn. If we have a lead, we're going to take it." Was the curt explanation he'd received after their makeshift breakfast this morning.

 _Nevermind that they had an audience with a pompous Prince who had been raised in France in a few hours and were likely to show up looking like a bunch of homeless vagabonds who looked like they'd been trekking through the swamps of Dagobah but without the cool lightsabers or Yoda..._

 _And while he was quite sure Lucy could defend herself under normal circumstances, it was unlike Wyatt to leave her alone like that._

 _Something weird happened last night between them._

Following the tense frame of his friend in the bleak morning, the overhead fog was permeating every layer of clothing he wore. He really should not have been surprised he reflected. Wyatt was always a man of action. _Any action was better than no action._ Or so Wyatt had said.

And so it was that they found themselves trekking through this muddy, cold landscape looking for the Gordon camp. Looking for a hapless twelve year old boy to rescue him from the horrors that awaited him.

 _At least Wyatt looks the part. I don't even remotely fit in._ So far he'd been able to ignore the curious and sometimes less than subtle disdainful glances he'd received from the locals. There were murmurings in Gaelic he did not understand.

But mostly, when Wyatt had had the chance to explain Rufus's 'story', he saw glances of pity and _dare his say it? Commiseration. These Scots knew much more about oppression than you would think._

"There! Just up ahead." Wyatt waved indefinitely at the horizon, "I think I see Lord Lewis's troops, which means the Gordons must be there as well."

 _Thank God._

What had struck Rufus more so than anything else on this mission was that history forgot so _very_ much. On their seemingly endless walk yesterday Lucy had given them a Kindergarten version of the Jacobite rebellions in Scotland, and not just the failure that resulted for the Scots, but the utter an abject subjugation that resulted.

 _Outlawing of tartans. Of Gaelic. The Highland clearances. White slavery._

It sounded suspiciously like what little he knew of his own heritage. His ancestors had been slaves in Georgia until after the Civil War had ended. _But the English sold their own neighbors, the Scots into slavery for the mere crime of wearing a tartan._

Wyatt interrupted his thoughts with a swift motion of his hand indicating that he should stay where he was.

A highlander in similar garb to Wyatt was approaching; he shouted something, and Wyatt replied however Rufus did not follow the exchange. _Give me a computer any day of the week._ _Languages outside of coding were never his thing._

The highlander made a motion to follow, Wyatt nodded towards the man and they walked forward into the small rag-tag camp.

After a further exchange, they were allowed into a slightly larger, but relatively non-descript blue tent that apparently housed Lord Lewis.

Wyatt was only mildly better than Rufus at containing his surprise at seeing Anthony Bruhl standing next to Lord Lewis in a non-descript but still period costume going over some maps with the Highland lord.

"A mutual friend sent me." Was Anthony's quick response looking up at them both in acknowledgement before returning to the papers he and Lord Lewis had been discussing. Wyatt's hand was already on his pistol before Anthony finished his sentence. Rufus was only mildly reassured that Wyatt had only put his hand there, but had not actually drawn said pistol.

Lord Lewis had not yet acknowledged their presence, "So you're saying that the Duke's army is trying to draw us into Battle on the moor of Drumossie?" He questioned Anthony.

"Yes Sir that is precisely what I'm saying."

Besides them and Anthony and the Lord, there were only two Highland guards on either side of the tent, and no young Alexander Gordon in sight. _We should leave now. Nothing good is going to come of this._

Rufus attempted to pull Wyatt's free hand back, but Wyatt refused to budge. Instead he directed himself to Lord Lewis speaking harshly in Gaelic and motioning to Anthony.

He didn't need to know how Wyatt was saying it, to know what he was saying. The guards both glanced at Lord Lewis, before advancing and drawing their blades on Anthony. _No English spy would deign to speak it. It was an automatic card of authenticity in these parts._

And if there was one thing Rufus still knew for a fact about Anthony Bruhl, it was that Anthony did not speak Gaelic, and he wasn't wearing a kilt either. _Did Flynn go to the English side after all?_

He did not have enough time to finish his thought though, as the guards detained Anthony, and Lord Lewis and Wyatt exchanged Gaelic in raised voices. Wyatt motioned towards Anthony again, rather violently in Rufus's opinion.

Suddenly Wyatt grabbed Anthony by the collar as the guards released him, and forcibly shoved the older man forward flintlock pistol pressed to the nape of his neck, "Go!" he barked in English.

Minutes later, and a couple barked orders from both Lord Lewis and Wyatt found the three time travelers alone in a clearing between some tall and sheltering pines, with Wyatt finishing up the restraints on the other pilot. Rufus too dumbfounded with the whole exchange to really say much.

"Where's Flynn?" growled Wyatt, squatting down to Anthony's level and leaning in for further effect, his interrogation face on, dirk pressed to Anthony's throat. _I'm very glad I've never been at the receiving end of Wyatt's anger._

 _But how much of this was Wyatt playacting for any possible Highland patrol that might come across them, and how much of this was actually Wyatt?_

He wasn't sure, but what he was sure about, was that Anthony looked terrified of Wyatt. The engineer swallowed, hard.

"Wyatt, is it really necessary to restrain Anthony? He's not going to hurt us." He began with some uncertainty, the soldier spared him a swift glance.

"Rufus, he works with Flynn. The same psychopath who kidnapped Lucy, and sent us into a Murder Castle. The only reason I didn't leave him for the Gordons to kill is because he might have intelligence we could use. He's not the same man you knew." Wyatt's gaze snapped back to his prisoner.

"Please! I didn't approve of his kidnapping Lucy or trying to have either of you killed." Anthony started pleading, shifting his glance nervously from Wyatt's dirk to trying to plead with Rufus. Wyatt pressed the dirk into Anthony's throat harder drawing the blood to that point, but not quite enough pressure to actually draw blood.

"HE-HE HARDLY T-TELLS ME ANYTHING!"Anthony gasped pushing himself back up against the tree trunk behind him in an effort to get away from Wyatt, "Please!"

Rufus took a step forward, but Wyatt's swift glance stopped him in his tracks. _I don't want him to kill Anthony. But he's right, that's not the Anthony I knew. The Anthony I knew always lectured me on_ _ **not**_ _breaking the rules and didn't like leaving the comfort of his own lab…_

"BULLSHIT!" Wyatt shouted, leaning in so close that Rufus could no longer see his friend's face. "He's been messing with Lucy's timeline this whole time! How did he get that journal Anthony? Where is it? Why is he here right now, and why did he send you into the Gordon camp?"

Anthony said nothing, and Rufus stepped forward to where Wyatt knelt, but remained standing as he broke in, "Anthony, Flynn's not your friend, you know what he's doing is wrong. There are other ways to bring down Rittenhouse without the murderous trail that Flynn has wrecked on history. He's killed, _killed_ Abraham Lincoln, our _President_. He tried to use you to sabotage the _Moon Landing_ , he's teamed up with the _Nazis_ -real Nobel Peace Prize Winners _there_ , he kidnapped Lucy, _Lucy_ who has never harmed a person in her whole life, and he tried to have Wyatt and I both murdered by a serial killer."

He squatted down, staring his one-time mentor in the eyes, "Anthony," He whispered, "The man you work for is a _monster_. He's let his grief drive him to mad an unforgiveable acts, and I _know_ that _you know_ this. What good do we do if we become a monster, to take down a monster?"

Wyatt withdrew his dirk from Anthony's neck and spun up and away from the two men suddenly, Rufus did not spare him a glance, but he didn't have to to know what Wyatt was battling.

"Anthony," He pleaded, taking his mentor by the shoulder, "Listen to me," the older man's eyes finally locked with his, "There's another way, and we're going to find it! But we need _your_ help."

And suddenly the roles had reversed, the student became the teacher, and the teacher opened up.

 **A/N:** I wanted to give Rufus a bigger role and not make his a third wheel, so I wanted him to be the one who broke through to Anthony, and while he's not given Wyatt a really hard time yet about the previous night, he's not done yet. This is a very busy day for our time travelers, and it's only just begun.

Thanks for reading! Please leave a review!


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Thanks for those who reviewed on the last chapter! I really appreciate it! Sorry this is moving a bit slower than I had expected it to go. But I think folks are gonna like this chapter we're back to Wyatt's POV.

 **Chapter 10**

They were late.

And Lucy was going to have his guts for garters. He knew that about as well as he knew that his name was Wyatt Logan.

 _Which you probably deserve for running off like that and leaving her alone without telling her first. Good information gained or not_.

He and Rufus had not been able to find his child ancestor, but Anthony had given them the lat/long coordinates of both the mothership and a reliable plan that Flynn was operating off of as well as where he was camping out these days. He even mentioned that if Flynn didn't have the actual journal on him at the time that he typically left it in a padlocked compartment on the mothership. Which only Flynn himself had the key to.

 _The bad news though, was Flynn's choice of uniform for this battle, a red coat. They'd guessed wrong, and he was in the middle of the British Army as an aide de camp for the Duke of Cumberland._

Anthony knew that Flynn was after 'an ancient and venerable Rittenhouse member' but Flynn apparently never gave him an actual name. Anthony felt that Flynn didn't really trust him anymore.

So they let him go after Wyatt fired two rounds into the ground with instructions to head back to the mothership and not venture back out.

And now Rufus and he were being announced, boots splattered in mud and with pine needles sticking to his vest to Prince Charles. _He was also pretty sure his hair was sticking up in the back from his damned cowlick_. Under normal circumstances he'd hardly had cared, but he didn't want to have to fight with _both_ Lucy and the Prince over his timely and uncouth appearance.

As the ivory painted doors opened and he gave Rufus a re-assuring smirk before the manservant announced, "William James Gordon, son of Donald Gordon of Lossiemouth, on errand from France." The middle-aged portly man droned, whacking his ceremonial staff on the ground.

 _Clearly France didn't help Charles's sense of self-entitlement._

Lucy had been seated across from Charles, but she was on her feet and across the room much faster than Wyatt had anticipated, her face was all smiles but her brown eyes were on fire with fury, "At last! My apologies your highness for my errant husband," she flashed the Prince one of her most disarming smiles, "He had an errand that could not wait." She advanced on him and for split second he was reminded of a time he'd angered Jessica similarly. _Jessica always looked like an angry kitten when she was mad._

Lucy had stopped in front of him; favoring him with a glare the likes of which he'd never seen from her before as she roughly grasped his belt to tighten it, yet she intentionally yanked it too tight; he sucked in his breath, before she re-adjusted with a dangerous look. She hissed so low he wasn't even sure that Rufus had heard, "You have some _serious_ explaining to do." Stealthily slipping the letter into his belt, she then picked off some errant needles quickly and whirled back around to face the Prince, all smiles again.

He knew she was furious with him. He knew this was a very important mission. But for some reason he couldn't get the image out of his head. _Lucy looked like an angry kitten when she was mad._

She was saying something in French that he was less than half following from the language barrier and the fact that he wanted to burst out laughing from the absurdity of it all.

 _She was wearing his ring._ He'd caught the glimmer in the pale sunlight from the east window as she'd turned.

 _Why was he so absurdly happy to see her protesting to this fake prince in the middle of a rebellion all the while wearing a ring he'd bought from a small jeweler's shop in Inverness not even a day before?_

A sharp pain shot through his right foot, and he looked down to see Rufus retract his boot, with an anxious but pointed look towards the Prince and Lucy who were both looking at him.

 _When in doubt, southern charm._ His grandmother's scolding voice echoed in his head. He swept a dramatic bow, most likely somewhat absurd looking given his appearance, but he was playing towards the Prince's known sense of drama and showmanship. "Of course, your highness," he replied smoothly as possible albeit in English before righting himself and striding forward. He extended Mason's forged, sealed letter to Prince Charles.

The Prince peered at him for a second, as if assessing him before accepting the letter.

Breaking the seal, Charles was about halfway through the letter when he waved his hand dismissively and his retainers exited, with the exception of a single door guard on both the inside and outside doors.

Lucy gave a reassuring smile to Rufus out of the corner of her mouth, but she avoided Wyatt's glance.

For his part, he couldn't stop staring at Lucy's left hand. _Lord he felt like he was back in high school again with his first crush._ The jeweler had assured him the ring was gold set with a ruby and cairngorms. Of course, there was no _real_ way to check that. He didn't know what cairngorms were, but they looked like some form of dark quartz to him.

Rufus kicked him again just as the Prince opened his mouth, "Your wife is a remarkable woman Monsieur," he drawled in a silky tone, running his hand up Lucy's chin slowly and Wyatt clenched his jaw, "Truly a flower of France," Charles turned to him with a slow smile the likes of which Wyatt never liked on any man. "It's a wonder you could leave her alone even for such an important errand."

" _My_ wife, your highness," Wyatt said with his characteristic smirk, leaning in towards the Prince as if confiding in him, "Is both smart enough and strong enough to read someone's intentions even after just a short audience." The soldier dared to glance at the woman in question, who refused to meet his gaze, but he noticed the red flush of his compliment creeping out from her hairline, he leaned in even closer, but his voice was loud enough that all four could hear him, "It's what makes her so invaluable."

Lucy studiously avoided his gaze, and grasped the letter from the somewhat befuddled Prince's hand, "I think we're here to discuss what your friend has sent to you though, am I not right?"

Latching on to her suggestion, Prince Charles looked up again at Wyatt, "You've fought against this George Cumberland before?" He drawled, still looking Wyatt over with an air of incredulity, "I find it hard to believe my friend Louis would have sent one so unkempt on such a great errand, and in the company of a Moor no less. Your wife may be remarkable Monsieur, but I do not find you to be."

Wyatt withdrew his dirk from its sheath, tossing it down on the table before them, hilt facing the Prince even as it clattered back and forth on the table before settling, "A soldier, like a dirk, your highness does not need to be pretty to get the job done."

Charles picked up the dirk to examine it before losing interest in the plain but functional weapon and setting it back down, "Where did you fight Cumberland?" his eyes locked Wyatt's.

"Fontenoy, last year. He didn't clear the woods, and the Dutch failed to capture the city. He is obsessed with drilling and protocol, but he lacks the ability to make swift decisions when the situation warrants."

Suddenly the Prince was on his feet, with an almost gleeful smile on his face, he clapped his hands together, "Magnifique! They we shall attack at dawn, when he is slumbering in his camp and does not have time to mount a proper defense." He whirled unnecessarily in his joy fanning out his heavily embroidered silk courtier's coattails.

 _Has this man even seen combat? He thinks this is just some game._ Wyatt tried his best to hide disdainful thoughts at his erstwhile leader from showing on his face.

Charles leaned over to Lucy again putting his hand beneath her chin, she favored him with her James Bond smile and Wyatt felt his breath hitch, "And once we have beaten Cumberland, Louis promises to send more men and money. We shall be in London by All Soul's after all!" Charles pulled Lucy to her feet, whispering something in her ear that he could not catch. Wyatt could feel his blood pressure rising, but Rufus stomped him again.

 _He was going to need to have a discussion with Rufus after this. This was getting super annoying._

Charles opened his mouth again, still holding Lucy's hand and Wyatt made a conscious effort _not_ to roll his eyes. _Or Rufus would probably kick him this time._ "Surely your lovely wife can spare a dance for me tonight at Ceilidh?"

Lucy retracted her hand from the Prince and swept a curtsy. "Perhaps your highness, but I do believe you've set us to the important errand of discovering Cumberland's whereabouts, and that should take precedence, there will always be a chance later in London." She cheekily winked and then spun round so fast she nearly fell into Wyatt, his quick reaction to grasp her quivering shoulder the only thing that stopped her. Her face was beet red and her eyes were furious. _And this time she's not mad at me._

After steadying her, he inclined his head just enough to construe it as a bow, "By your leave Your Highness." Lucy had already turned to leave, and his hand slid down from her shoulder to her lower back, encircling her waist and bracing her.

Rufus's eyes went wide at that, but to his credit he said nothing. Wyatt was never more grateful that no one said anything until they found themselves seated in a darkened wooden booth at a non-descript pub in Inverness after a trek.

The young cheerful blonde barmaid had just finished plopping the third bowl of stew and bread she'd been juggling all the way from the kitchen over to their table in front of them before leaving. Rufus in a rather uncharacteristic fashion for him was more than halfway through his tankard of ale before he spoke. Lucy was tracing circles round the rim of her tankard which she had not had any of yet.

"So are you two going to tell me _what_ is going on or not?" Rufus finally demanded, as his tankard came down a little too hard on the well-worn table.

Lucy's eyes flashed, " _I_ could ask the two of you the same. Why did you leave me, without warning this morning to deal with the Prince all on my _own_?" The words were directed at both Rufus and him, but her glare was fixed on Wyatt as she spoke.

The soldier flexed his hands up in surrender, arms still resting on the table, "Lucy, we were just trying to find the boy, we didn't get him as you can see, but we did find Anthony and get some good intel off of him."

He turned to his engineering friend next, "Rufus, there's nothing going on between Lucy and I, I'm just trying to protect her." But the engineer was narrowing his eyes towards him halfway through his speech, and Lucy made a choking sound into her ale. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that she had turned away from him, busying herself smoothing her skirts. Rufus spotted it too, and kicked Wyatt again. Much harder this time.

"Dude!" Wyatt slammed his hand on the table, rattling the dishes and utensils as he glared at Rufus, "What the fuck was that for? Stop fucking kicking me like we're in grade school!"

Rufus crossed his arms on his chest and glared at him as if trying to convey his thoughts telepathically. _This discussion is NOT over yet buddy._

Lucy sighed and looked up from her self-assigned task, folding her hands together on the table she looked both of them in the eye, "Alright so what _did_ you learn? And what is the plan?"

A heated discussion and couple of empty stew bowls and tankards later, Wyatt dropped some coins on the table and the three of them started to walk out.

He still wasn't happy with the plan, but he'd been outvoted. Lucy who was still in her purple dress from yesterday insisted on finding a dress-maker's shop so she could have a clean dress for this evening.

And Rufus was going with her. _Dress Shopping_.

 _He hated to admit it, but that made him more than a little jealous._ However, Lucy's argument was sound, neither she nor Rufus should be on their own in the city and someone still needed to find the mothership and Flynn.

Which is what he'd been tasked to do, find one or the other before dinner and meet back up at their room later. He was hoping to find both, but he realized that finding the mothership was probably the more viable option since Flynn was likely ensconced in the middle of a British camp and wearing the Gordon colors like he was, he wouldn't make it past the sentries.

But this evening was really what he was dreading the most, everyone agreed they couldn't skip the Ceilidh without blowing their cover, so both he and Lucy were going. And he was going to have to fight the Prince off Lucy all over again. The worst part though, was he had to do his scouting out the mothership perfectly.

Because Rufus was going alone under the cover of night to try to recover the journal from the mothership. The engineer had pointed out Flynn probably didn't have the journal on him in such a large encampment where anyone could find it. So, it was probably in the mothership, which with any luck was only being guarded by Anthony. Plus Rufus was the only one who could talk to Anthony.

And as Rufus so aptly put it, "Dude I'm black, remember it's my superpower to disappear? And bonus: I'm really good at it at night."

Their historian had agreed, and nomatter how much Wyatt argued it was dangerous and reckless he couldn't sway them.

Lucy locked her ebony eyes with his, "Much must be risked in war." Her tone ended the conversation.

He turned out of the darkened alley and on to the crowded street. There were a large number of people on the streets on Inverness for a city that was to see a nasty battle in a few sunrises. He thought he saw a flash of red hair on a boy that met Rufus's description of Ross Alexander Gordon.

 _But there were more than a few redheads on these streets._

 **A/N:** So I hope Wyatt wasn't too out of character for this chapter, but he's clearly allowing his attraction to Lucy to show more and more, especially with the whole jealousy of the Prince thing…

But they're not out of the woods yet, sorry. And who loves Rufus kicking Wyatt? Sorry I just thought that was hilarious, and a super Rufus thing to do since Wyatt was so distracted by Lucy he could hardly keep his mind in the game…

Please review!


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Tried to update this last night, but apparently FFN didn't take the update properly. I am truly sorry for the super tardy update. But Wyatt totally threw me for a loop in this chapter, and that's what took so long for the update. Well that and you know, real life that has the pesky habit of getting in the way. Also, my computer crashed in the middle of my QC of the chapter, so I apologize for any errors. But I think once you all read this chapter you'll forgive me!

 **Chapter 11**

The last warming rays of sunlight were falling below the horizon, and a slight chill hung in the air as Wyatt's boots echoed down the fairly deserted hall, when he opened the door to their room he almost wished he hadn't.

Rufus had just finished distributing a hot meat pie from the market into perfectly equal portions _typical engineer_ on handkerchiefs, laying them neatly in a row on the windowseat with a small jug of ale, innocent enough.

The little dark-haired historian of his though, she turned around just as he entered and his breath caught in his throat. From her pale white shoulders down to her feet she wore a stunning gown of deep blue and a corset so tight on her, that she must have had help lacing it up. _Lord that's got to be uncomfortable for her_. Heaven help him, but he now knew the appeal of such horrid things.

It clung to Lucy's figure like a glove, and her neckline was so low _he_ was going to have problems focusing, let alone keeping the stupid oaf of a Prince off of her. There was a white underdress, which was accentuated by rather fancy white embroidery on the dark blue, this was finished off with a broach made of small pearls in the shape of a lily that anchored her plaid sash from her waist to her shoulder.

Her blue and green checked sash with the small yellow lines. The Gordon colors. _His colors._ He swallowed hard, trying to fight the irresistible draw this was creating. Lucy's hair was a mass of tempting curls pinned up, and she appeared to be wearing two necklaces, one was a simple pearl strand with a small gem set in the center, but cunningly hidden so that it appeared to be the same piece almost, was her modern locket. The one with Amy's picture in it.

Of course the actual locket portion was out of sight, _no doubt buried in her bodice_. He refused to think further on that topic, it was dangerous territory. But he knew that chain anywhere from the number of times Lucy had worn it and carried it on her person.

"Well Han Solo, if you're planning on taking Princess Leia to the ball, you might want to at _least_ get all that ewok crap off of your boots first." Rufus drawled in a highly amused tone.

Glancing sheepishly at his boots, Wyatt realized he'd tracked in half the forest on his muddy boots, but he sincerely hoped there wasn't any actual crap on them. He glared up at Rufus, "Look here Mr. Engineer, I thought Ewoks liked the tropics, not boreal forests like these! Get your facts straight!"

"Actually they prefer Californian redwoods." Rufus crossed his arms and stated with true seriousness.

Lucy snorted a direct result of her attempting to prevent a laugh, and then failing miserably. Rufus smiled and Wyatt laughed. When they had all recovered he relayed his information on the mothership's situation, and then kitted out Rufus with as many weapons as he could carry, and then a few more for good measure.

The soldier was loading the second of the two modern pistols in front of Rufus, "And then always remember with a modern pistol you can place an extra round in the chamber, give you a-"

He felt a firm hand on his shoulder, he looked up into Rufus's confident eyes, "I'm good man, go clean yourself up."

Wyatt paused, long enough to prompt Lucy to jump in, "Seriously Wyatt you can't show up looking like a vagabond twice in one day with the Prince, he'll throw you out. We'll lose nearly all the progress we've made on this mission, _and_ I'll be stuck with him all by myself."

 _Well leaving Lucy alone again in the hands of that moronic womanizer who liked to call himself a Prince was more than enough of a motivating factor._

Music was already drifting upstairs to their room from the main house ballroom as Rufus secured his flare gun-for emergencies only Wyatt had stated-and Wyatt ran his fingers through his mostly-dry hair. Rufus having courteously dragged up a bucket of water for him.

He could feel her piercing brown eyes on him back as he fumbled with whatever cloth contraption it was that passed for a tie in this era. "Do you need help?" she asked softly her footsteps barely giving him any warning at all to her approach. He was enveloped in that unique floral scent that was Lucy again as she reached up to his neck, her fingers brushed his skin and he could feel a flush rapidly spreading to his cheeks.

His blue eyes caught her brown ones for a moment before he turned away, "Stand still!" she chided, and he could feel her warm honey-scented breath on his neck. "Hey! I know how to tie a Double Windsor!" He retorted weakly. He marveled at her ability to make sense of the awkwardly starched linen in such a quick manner. "This is a _cravat_ Wyatt, not a tie."

She finished her elaborate knot and began to withdraw her hands, which he caught in his own. He heard her breathing deepen as she looked up at him, surprised.

 _How was it even legal that a woman could look as breathtaking as Lucy right now?_

"Please stick close to me this evening," he began softly as she cocked her head to one side in that cute manner she had when she didn't quite understand something; it was a struggle for him to finish his thought, "I-I'm going to have a hard time keeping the other men off of you." He ran his fingers through his hair again, thinking to turn away again, but realizing they needed to leave he turned back to her.

He trailed his fingers slowly down her sash, "Please don't take this the wrong way Lucy, but you're fucking gorgeous and any man who doesn't see that tonight is either blind or gay."

Lucy blushed crimson and gave him a small smile before looking at her shoes.

"Or Rufus. Rufus admits that Lucy is of course gorgeous, but Rufus has a mission to accomplish…"Rufus's strong hand rested on Lucy's small shoulder and he smiled at her, she smiled back.

"As do we Wyatt. Come on, let's go." She reached for his hand, and as Rufus walked out Wyatt could've sworn he winked at Lucy.

 _But the lighting in the room wasn't that great. And why would Rufus do that anyway?_

Their friend's footsteps echoed down the hall away from them, and he swallowed taking her hand again, and he grinned at her, "As you wish. Ma'am."

He marveled as they walked over how incredibly _normal_ it felt acting like Lucy was his wife.

 _But she's not._

The light of what looked to be dozens of flickering candles illuminated the bright yellow ballroom. There were so many that even Wyatt wondered what the expense had been. Then Lucy leaned in to whisper, "I don't suppose you know any of these dances?"

He looked at her incredulously, "You think they teach Highland reels in rural Texas?"

She tried to hide her laugh, "Your grandfather seemed a man of many talents, and he taught you nearly everything else."

Glancing round the room, he noticed that there was a mix of officers in French uniforms, _avoid them at all costs_ as well as Scotsmen dressed in either court dress or kilts like himself _likely the leaders of the clans_. The women were nearly all Scottish, and the Prince and Clementia were nowhere to be seen as of yet.

A long narrow table abutted the far wall across the dance floor from them, and there was a servant pouring wine behind it while another corner had two musicians who between them had a jumble of instruments at their disposal from a pipe to a harp and what he thought was a rudimentary set of bagpipes. They were of course piping out a merry reel and the couples moved rhythmically round the floor fueled by wine and the buoyancy brought on by all the preceding victories the Prince and his army had had.

 _Not realizing that nearly every man in this room would be dead or declared an outlaw in a few short days._

Not a single man carried any real weapons that he could see beyond the typical dirk.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lord Lewis approaching them from the dance floor with a young blonde-haired woman who appeared to be his wife. He tugged Lucy's elbow, drawing her attention back from her obvious attempt at trying to learn a dance on sight.

The young dark-haired Lord doffed his tricorner to Lucy and said, "Fancy seeing you here again, William, allow me to introduce my fiancé Lady Isabella MacKenzie, the daughter of John Mackenzie Lord of Cromartie."

Isabella curtseyed briefly, and Lord Lewis turned to Lucy, "Forgive me ma'am for being so forward, but I had the pleasure of meeting your husband this morning. He saved me from falling victim to some false intelligence."

Lucy's eyes met his gaze briefly, and he realized he'd already committed some massive social faux pas. "Please allow me to introduce my lovely wife, Lucille Gordon, daughter of Sieur Henri de Narbonne?"

While the young Lord courteously took Lucy's hand to kiss it his eyes strayed back to his own fiancé and Wyatt was mildly relieved.

"I must confess," Lucy began in a conspiratorial tone as she leaned towards Lord Lewis, "I'm not familiar with many Highland dances-" A broad smile evinced itself on his face before she even finished her statement.

Lord Lewis whispered loudly back to Lucy, "Then I shall have to teach you my dear." The young Gordon Lord sent an incredulous but well-meaning smile his way, "Haven't taught your wife the proper way to dance yet?"

Wyatt smirked, "I beg pardon, my Lord, however my wife and I were-" he paused for slight effect and then lowered his voice, "A bit more preoccupied with other things." He could feel his ears burning at the implications of what he'd just said. _And Lucy is going to kill me later._

The young lady in question merely raised an eyebrow at him, but her eyes spoke the volumes of her confusion at his remark before she allowed herself to be lead to the dance floor by their new friend.

He turned to Isabella, the only sensible thing to do, "I'm afraid Mistress, part of the reason is that I'm a terrible dancer." She smirked at him, "But perhaps you wouldn't mind trying anyway?"

Several minutes later after a couple songs had ended, Wyatt grabbed two wine glasses, handing one to Lucy while Lord Lewis and his fiancé paired back up again. _He would never admit it, but he_ _ **had**_ _taken some dance lessons back in High School. But only because he was trying to meet girls, and it was an easy elective. And surprisingly, he'd remembered enough of it to pass as competent in the unfamiliar dance patterns._

Lucy brushed up against him, her breath still coming out rather heavily from the last dance, and not at all assisted by her tight corset. "It's sad don't you think," she said softly after recovering a bit, "They're not doing this for the Prince you know. They just want their freedom, and he was the banner that united them."

Still scanning the room though he wasn't entirely sure what for, he took a large swig of his wine glass. _Normally_ _he wasn't a wine person, but whatever this French stuff was even he could tell it was good._

"You don't need to remind me how his ignorance and general ineptitude ends this." He said bitterly under his breath. He didn't need to look at Lucy to feel her eyes on him, but she did pause before stepping into his line of vision.

Her concern was written all over her face, "Wyatt," she began softly, "Are you ok?"

 _Am I ok with watching all these innocent people, many of whom I am likely related to be slaughtered for the sake of preserving American history?_

 _Yup. Totally ok with this._

His internal sarcasm translated to his tone, "Completely fine." He smirked, raising his glass to her in mock toast before swallowing the remainder of the glass in one gulp, and slamming it a bit harder than necessary on the table behind him, startling the servant.

Just as he turned around the major-domo _or whatever that pompous man was called_ rapped his staff on the floor and the assembly halted what they were doing, even the music stopped. The double doors cracked open, and the evening's most anticipated couple entered. He could feel his eyes roll when the major domo opened his mouth to announce them.

"His Highness, Prince Charles Edward Louis John Casimir Sylvester Severino Maria Stuart of Wales. Son of our good King James III." The portly man paused to wipe his brow and draw a breath after his long winded sentence, "And Mistress Clementina Maria Sophia Walkinshaw, daughter of Master James Walkinshaw."

The boring man began to trundle on about something else, but he had long since lost Wyatt's interest.

Lucy's attention was still glued forward, and it wasn't long until Prince Charles's wandering eyes strayed across the crowd in their direction. He drew his breath in, standing a bit taller even as his arm found itself instinctively encircling Lucy's impossibly thin waist. Despite the smooth fabric of her dress he could feel the stiff supporting ribs of her corset through it and her skin felt like it was burning through the dress.

 _She was far too warm. Was the corset too much for her? How quickly could he get her out of here without someone noticing?_

He whirled her around, knocking the unexpecting Lucy slightly off-balance. She fell flat against his chest, seemingly somewhat winded and mildly annoyed, but otherwise perfectly fine. Wyatt could feel her breathing quicken against his chest; her heady scent was intoxicating and he sheepishly caught himself looking down her dress.

His eyes had unwillingly followed that familiar gold chain down between her pale, white breasts…

Stepping back and swallowing hard he wrenched his eyes back up to meet Lucy's. He could feel himself turning red from mortification and being caught checking her cleavage out so obviously.

She pursed her lips into a hard thin line, but said nothing. He couldn't read her expression for once, and that had him worried, she suddenly downed her entire glass of wine in one fell swoop. Turning on her black heeled boot she pivoted away from him and walked to the far side of the table setting her glass down neatly before grabbing a second and repeating her actions.

Dancing had just resumed, and he registered Prince Charles approaching Lucy from behind, just as he took a step forward ready to rescue her when he saw a bright light out of the corner of his eye from the direction of the window.

 _Shit! Rufus!_

 _Was that a flare?_

Holding her half-drunk third glass of wine, Lucy turned around instantly gauging the situation. Her eyes darted from him to the Prince and back again. His pained expression told her everything she neededs to know.

 _I'm sorry Lucy_.

Cursing under his breath in every language he knows, he threw the open the doors without ceremony and stalked out into the darkened night. Glancing up into the hills near the copse of trees that he knew the Mothership to be located in, and nothing seemed to be amiss.

No flares, fires or anything. Quickly scanning his surroundings again, the source of the sudden light becomes obvious.

It hadn't been Rufus at all.

A haunting pipe tune picks up as clansmen gathering round a newly started (and still sputtering) fire to watch one of their comrades dance over two glinting swords in the moonlight.

Memories of his grandfather flooded back and he drew a deep breath before turning away, eyes burning with unshed tears. _This mission was hitting far too close to home._

 _I can't change it Grandpa. I can't._

 _I can't save them._

Feeling defeated he turned back towards the house.

"Leaving so soon?" He turned towards the source of the voice, a stocky young highlander raised a flask in his direction, "Promise you that he canna do the _gillie callum_ as well as I can." He boasted. Something looked familiar about this young man, _but he was just another curly red-haired Scotsman_.

 _Another few minutes wasn't going to kill Lucy. Besides, if she's as pissed off as I think she is, she's going to teach that dumbass Charles a lesson he richly deserves._

"William Gordon," Wyatt said extending his hand to the man.

"James Fraser." His companion smiled broadly with a firm shake and offered him his flask.

 _Whiskey thank God._ The familiar burn of the peaty liquid trailed down the back of his throat.

"Dinna think I've seen you around here much." Fraser commented as they followed the complex dance and Wyatt internally marveled at the skill of the highlander as he deftly maneuvered around the sharp blades. He handed the flask back with some regret.

Fraser took a long drink, and returning it back.

"Just in from errand in France." Was his monotone reply both still engrossed by the hypnotic combination of the leaping flames, agile steps of the dancer and the eerie, drifting tune that seemed to carry through the heavy mist that was descending.

The young man turned to look at him more closely, "My wife is from France." He stated thickly, and Wyatt was confused by the sudden emotion in his voice.

Standing up from the tree they'd been bracing against, he looked him over properly. _The man almost looked haunted himself._

"So is mine." Wyatt began warily narrowing his eyes, not sure quite what else to say. Fraser grabbed him harshly by his awkward cravat yanking him in closer.

"You think this is _funny_?" Fraser hissed in his ear, his own harsh blue eyes glaring into Wyatt's own steely blue ones.

 _You are not picking fights with Highlanders._ So instead of bringing his elbow crashing down on the man's burly arm, his first instinct, he grasped Fraser's wrist with his own hand and applied an increasing amount of pressure till the man let go.

"Coincidence. Lucille is from Narbonne." He took another drink from the flask again before handing it back again.

"Claire's not from those parts." He sighed, "And with any luck I'm going to convince her to go back to her family before this slaughter happens."

Wyatt did a double-take. _Slaughter?_

Fraser took in his evident surprise but continued, "You're a soldier too. I can see it in your eyes. Don't tell me you think we will win this battle, it's obvious." He drank again.

"We are vastly outnumbered-" Wyatt began

Fraser slammed the rest of the flask into Wyatt's chest and Wyatt recognized the death wish in the man's eyes. He'd seen it too many times before in men he had served with. _In himself if he were honest._

"Get your wife out, she doesn't deserve this." Fraser said gruffly before he disappeared into the dark night.

Finishing off the flask. _No sense in wasting perfectly good whiskey_. He reflected on his puzzling encounter with Fraser, finding no other logical explanation he chalked it up to the highlander simply having seen too much battle himself and being a realist.

 _Because the alternative was impossible_.

Disposing of the flask he re-entered the ballroom right as the last few stanzas of the song were winding down.

Just as he feared, Lucy was in Prince Charles's clutches, practically tied to his side on the dance floor. The mistress was not in his immediate range of sight, but Wyatt could only imagine what she was thinking as her idiot lover caressed the arch of Lucy's neck as he brought his hand down to her shoulder when they had finished turning.

Lucy's eyes were furious and her face was flushed, whether from her wine intake or anger he was not sure which, but she was smiling to any casual onlooker.

Wyatt started walking towards her, trying to catch her glance. To let her know there was an out.

Charles whispered something inappropriate in her ear and she whispered fiercely back, glaring at him this time, but he couldn't take the hint it seemed and reached down to pinch her on the ass instead. He was about to grab the Prince and punch him in the face. _His majesty or not_. When Lucy squarely planted her heeled boot onto his foot, and Wyatt had the satisfaction of seeing the shocked and pained expression on the Charles's face before Lucy finished hurtling around in her final pirouette of the dance smack into his chest again. _For what was it the third time today? How many times was he to be expected to withstand this torture?_

"Pardon," she said placatingly her chest heaving heavily against her rigid corset as she reached for his arms to steady herself before looking up to meet his eyes and relief flooded her features.

From the edge of his vision he could see the Prince's grimace and played it up, purely to see the irritation grow on his sour features, he swept a dramatic bow in his Gordon plaid and his ridiculous white wide-sleeved shirt, "My dear may I have the honor of this dance?"

Lucy couldn't hide her broad smile, "I thought you'd never ask," and he wasted no time pulling her closer towards himself as the next song commenced. So close, that their foreheads touched just long enough during a pause and he lowered his mouth to her ear, "Rufus is fine. False alarm." Wyatt did note with self-satisfaction that she couldn't have faked the shudder which ran down her frame from his breath on her ear.

He had been beginning to suspect before this mission that Lucy was developing feelings for him. He couldn't pinpoint what exactly had tipped him off to that regard, but she mirrored her beloved books in that regard. Everything she thought or felt was evinced on the pages of her face.

 _At least to him anyway._

 _And it was inevitable wasn't it? The number of life-death situations that they'd been thrown into together, just the two of them. Those adrenaline rushes, the mutual fear of the unknown, common hardships and shared victories-it set loose powerful emotions he knew that. Emotions that made bonds stronger than steel or death._

 _Those bonds had made a band of brothers of him and his Delta Force unit. Just like his new bond with Rufus, a man he viewed as the brother he had never had._

 _But with Lucy._

 _Those bonds were doing something entirely different._

Whirling back apart she stammered, "G-Glad to hear." Lucy was resolutely staring at a spot on his throat and not meeting his eyes when they re-joined. He pulled a soft dark ringlet loose from her hair arrangement, twirling it absently around his finger as they moved in time to the slow and mournful tune that he was barely registering. Her face was flushed and warm to the touch, the dark gown and her even darker hair setting at contrast to her pale skin.

She slowly lifted her head her dark brown eyes meeting his gaze.

There it was, written so plainly for him to see. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve it, and he certainly had never asked for it.

And there were times that he felt like the lowest piece of shit for causing her to love him. The most recent example having been when he gave her the ring that now winked at him out of the corner of his vision on his shoulder. If he had suspected it before, he knew then. But he had never intended, _ever_ to hurt her by it.

His eyes bored into hers. Trying to convey his thoughts, his apologies even as he tried to read her own thoughts buried deep within those brown depths.

He hadn't wanted to dump a ring on her, and if anything he had brought himself so close to his own breaking point that night as well. _If Rufus hadn't walked in when he had…_ Because never before in his life had he felt so conflicted.

Standing there, staring down at her beautiful face, so full of hope he wanted to memorize the curve of her cheekbone under his thumb and watched as her eyelashes closed over her eyes, glittering with unshed tears.

If there was one person on this entire planet that he could never hope to deserve, it was Lucy. She of all people deserved someone far better than him, someone who could love her the way she deserved. Not his broken heart.

 _God forgive him, but she was the most beautiful thing he'd seen. And tonight was a night where he would have done anything, anything at all she asked._

He could almost place that floral scent she was wearing, it was familiar to him. But it must have been decades since he had smelled it before her…

 _He couldn't get enough of it. Of her. Everything about Lucy was addicting. Her scent removed all logical thought from his mind. Her touch made him burn. Her innocence made him act irrationally to protect it. Her eyes made him lose himself in them time and again. It was almost as if she could see into what was left of that broken and tattered soul of his. And those lips they tasted like honey. Honey and hope._

 _Hope._

 _And he needed that. He hadn't had it for so long._

Desire so strong and unexpected that it hit him like an exploding mortar shell made him all but gasp for breath.

 _He desperately needed that hope that some human being could know him for what he truly was and still care for him._

He tugged her head gently back up to face him, pulling on her silky loose curl; his voice much huskier than he'd anticipated when he finally found it, "How much trouble will I be in right now if I kiss you?"

Lucy's eyes closed for a long pause as she drew a deep, steadying breath before opening them again, "Public kissing was not well-looked on during this time on the continent," _She could lecture on history when borderline drunk and still pissed off about the asshole of a Prince._

"However Scotland and the Highlands in particular were less strict on the matter." Lucy continued her lecture all the while subtly directing him in the dance and yet seemingly oblivious to his inner turmoil. _And God help him but he loved her bossiness._ She ducked under his extended arm, her dress fanning out around her the heavy midnight blue fabric giving the illusion of rippling water before she rejoined him again. "Which is not to say that-"

He caught her right there, stopping them in the middle of the dance floor virtually heedless of their surroundings in a way he had not been for years. He could feel the eyes of the audience he was gathering as he brought his hands up from her waist to her face, cupping it there to pause for the smallest fraction of time where ice blue eyes met ebony.

Wyatt knew that they were attracting lots of attention. _Unwanted attention_. But in that moment it was merely the annoyance of a buzzing bee. Nothing else mattered to him. Lucy was the light, and he was a moth drawn in it's dizzy, drunken path towards the entrancing flame. _Well maybe not a moth…._

 _Flynn be damned._

 _Prince Charles could go to hell._

 _Forgetting Scotland._

 _And America._

He had what he had been seeking for so long right before his very eyes. The room was a kaleidoscope of shifting colors around them as his brain sluggishly tried to catch up with the screaming blood echoing through his veins.

Jessica was his first love. She was his wife. And he would always love her. But she was gone.

And as the candles flickered and the people mulled around them, the music a faint sound on the edge of his conscious; Wyatt realized what he had been missing for all those years since Syria.

He had wanted. No needed. Needed and sought out someone, anyone who he could relate to. Who had shared his experiences with him. He lost that when he'd lost his unit.

When his brothers had sacrificed themselves to save him.

And then there was no one.

Not even Jessica could touch the darkness in him and survive. He had known this instinctively, and that was why he had hidden it from her. He had protected her from the darkness inside him. Afraid she would not love what she might find.

But here in April of 1746 days before one of the bloodiest battles in the entirety of British history, in the middle of a ballroom of ignorant people Wyatt James Logan realized that he'd been looking in all the wrong places.

Lucy had been there.

She had been with him on every crazy time-travel adventure. She had seen him kill. She had saved his life even. She had seen his PTSD. She had heard his guilt.

And she had not run away.

She ran towards him time and time again.

Lucy had seen his darkness and she understood what it was, that it was a part of him. She hadn't tried to change it.

But she had seen his darkness, had lived through so much of it with him and yet she was still Lucy Preston.

Lucy Anne Preston. Innocent historian.

Somehow she was still innocent despite seeing more of his darkness than any other human alive. She crashed unwittingly through his walls with her lectures and disarmed him with her smile.

Every. Single. Time.

She never gave up on him, she had faith in him. Hope in him. That he could overcome his darkness.

 _He was blinder than a soldier in sandstorm._

She had been watching him intently, her inquisitive brown eyes taking in every revelation that he made and for once he didn't care to mask his emotions.

"Mo Ghaol Ort." His words barely audible as he crushed his lips on hers. Calm washed over him like a cool summer rain on a hot muggy day, stilling the screaming in his blood to a soft hum. The shock of the sudden peace left him dizzyingly light-headed. Pressing his fingers against her neck he pulled her closer to him, breathing her in deeply. Her initial surprise melted away and she willingly gave in to his insistent tongue on her lips. Lucy tasted just how he'd remembered honey and hope. He was pouring out his long-suppressed emotions into this kiss like someone had finally opening the floodgates; grasping her closer to him than should have been physically possible. Needing her warmth, her touch, her skin against him. It was so overwhelming he could think of literally nothing else.

 _He needed her as much as he needed air._

Her eyes closed as she moaned softly into him, letting him know that she had wanted this just as badly as he had. And that euphoric realization sent shivers down his spine to his toes. He felt electrified. _Alive. Like he hadn't since Jess died._

Lucy's right hand left his waist and he realized she was running her fingers down his scalp. The nagging voice in the back of his mind grew louder. _He needed to get them out of here._

Reluctantly he pulled his lips off hers and without waiting for a response fairly dragged her outside of the large hall and the small antechamber into the cool star-light gardens.

Mercifully it was deserted as far as he could tell; likely due to the falling temperature that Wyatt had not properly anticipated earlier. Lucy had already started shivering at his side, and he pulled her towards him unconsciously.

She pulled back though crossing her bare arms over her chilly form, the cold seeming to snap the spell from earlier that they'd been under. Rounding on him she hissed angrily, "And _just_ what was _that_ back there?"

Wyatt stepped forward, uncrossing her arms slowly rubbing warmth back into them before stepping her backwards into the neighboring tree trunk, never losing eye contact, "I told you," he said softly.

"In Gaelic," she replied angrily, "Which you know very well I have no idea what you said. And I _told_ you that kissing in public was not allowed on the continent that it is viewed very poorly, and Prince Charles was raised there. It will not go over well, and what happened to sliding under the radar? You couldn't have attracted more attention if you'd walked into that room and toasted King George himself! I swear Wyatt I-"

 _This woman was going to be the death of him._

He silenced her rant by kissing her lips again. "Mo." He whispered pulling back, moving towards her left ear, leaving a soft kiss there and she shuddered, "Ghaol." And then her right, "Ort."

Bringing his forehead to rest against hers, her dark eyes boring through him he finished softly, "I love you."

Her beautiful face fell, and her bottom lip began to quiver as she rapidly blinked back tears, her left foot turned away and she made to escape his arms. Wyatt's arm braced against her, preventing her progress.

A single tear streaked down her face when she lifted her gaze up, "Please Wyatt," her voice cracked with emotion, "the Prince isn't here, no one is. You don't need to pretend, just let me go."

Suddenly his stomach fell like his first jump out of an airplane. _Had he completely misjudged this?_

"Who said I was pretending?" he barely recognized his own voice and the vulnerability that clearly echoed in it. But he pulled back, releasing her if she so chose.

 _God had he fucked it up big time. She would rightly so, never talk to him after this._

Numbness like a bitter icy wind started to creep through him as he rapidly tried to replay the last few days in his mind, desperately seeking where he had mis-interpreted her.

 _How was he any better than that asshole, womanizing Prince right now?_

 _You swore you'd protect her. But can you protect her from yourself?_

Guilt and self-loathing, such old friends of his were back again, cackling in his mind at his misfortune.

 _You will never deserve her._

Unconsciously, he'd been stepping back from her. Defeated, head down, and unable to meet her gaze.

For her part, Lucy watched in horror as she saw her friend shrink back from her. She had never once seen him look so vulnerable, not even in the midst of his PTSD induced memories. Without looking back he swung around and was at the gate to the garden before she had even registered he'd moved.

" _ **Wyatt**_!" she called in desperation, her voice catching on the last syllable. Her tears flowing freely down her face. But he did not stop, even though she knew he had heard her.

His pace was much faster than hers, and while not at a run he wasn't walking either, and her shoes were starting to stick in the mushy soil of the neighboring field.

Her legs kept tangling in her petticoats with every step she took, and she felt her ankle twist. The heavy fog was rolling in, and she was losing him in it.

Wyatt's stark shadow pacing further and further from her in the dimming light, and she cried out in frustration, wrenching the shoes off her feet and throwing them away in anger.

She had always scoffed when watching those historical dramas not believing that women really _could_ run in ridiculous hooped dresses like these.

"WYATT!" she howled in desperation, lifting her skirts and running after him, heedless of her prior academic objections, nothing else mattered but finding him. _To explain to him_.

The ambient light from the campfires in the distance had diffused oddly in the thick murky mist surrounding her and grew fainter with each step, her stockings were soaked from mud, rain and grass and she had torn a large gaping hole in her dress catching it on an unseen tree limb. The worst was she could not longer see Wyatt anywhere.

Breathing in the corset was painful, but she didn't dare remove it-nor did she have the time. She thought she heard movement to her right and whipped around too fast, slipping on the slick long grass she slid down the embankment rolling over twigs and prickly heather, landing in a painful heap at the base.

 _Her side hurt like hell._ Clutching at it she came to the conclusion she had somehow damaged the corset in her fall and it was likely one of the whalebones was now sticking into her side.

Pulling her wrecked hair out of her face she saw two darkened figures in the pale moonlight.

One figure she knew all too well, but in his Gordon kilt and loose fitting linen shirt, brown hair and piercing blue eyes in his hardset face, she had the sickening suspicion that time had pulled him beyond her grasp.

 _His expression was the same as at the Alamo, but his eyes were dead this time._

Time had always seemed to have a unique pull on Wyatt that it hadn't had on either her or Rufus. He was so easily absorbed into certain periods, World War II, the Alamo and now here in Scotland.

Her stomach churned and she tasted bile as the voice of her mother echoed mockingly in her head. _Because the broken part of him is looking for completion. Because part of him still has a death wish._

 _Wyatt? What have I done to you?_ She suppressed a sob, biting her lip so hard it she tasted bitter coppery liquid.

"Pardon me Missus," Lucy looked up at the second figure for the first time and her heart nearly stopped. A young man, who could so easily have been Wyatt's younger brother but with brilliant red hair had extended his hand to help her up.

Still shocked after the boy had so courteously helped her up, it was all she could do not to gap at him.

The young man wore Gordon colors just like Wyatt, and was only a few inches shorter, their frames were nearly the same, and the resemblance between the two was uncanny.

But young Ross Alexander Gordon's voice broke through her haze, "Pardon me missus, but as I was tellin' your husban' here there's a Mister Morgan Freedman askin' that I come find you both post haste."

 **A/N:** So yeah, Wyatt wanted to kiss Lucy before I was ready for him to. And Lucy totally misunderstood the whole thing (initially anyway). So they made a mess of it. Sorry, I think I went a bit Gothic in this chapter. But it was really fun . Also, the Gaelic doesn't really sound _that_ romantic. But I love everything Scottish, so I had to have Wyatt do it. And the words don't sound like they look exactly so….just pretend please! ;)

Disclaimer: I own no guest appearances by any other characters that might bear resemblance to any other fandom. But sorry I couldn't resist! (Also super far behind in that series so if something is wrong I apologize I'm going off of the tidbits and spoilers that I know.)

All mistakes are mine, I really hope you liked it, please review!


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